Deliverance
by blucougar57
Summary: Detectives Goren and Eames find themselves in serious trouble when the serial killer they have been chasing turns the tables on them in the worst possible way. Finished.
1. Waking Nightmare

Rated M for violence and trauma - this story is not for children.

This is a Criminal Intent story, crossed over with CSI: NY, and CSI: Miami. I was tempted to include a couple of my other favourite shows, but thought better of it.

Disclaimer: The usual. I do not own the characters of Criminal Intent, or the CSI franchise. I'm making no money out of this whatsoever. Don't sue me, I have no money.

* * *

_**DELIVERANCE**_

_Unknown location_

Alex Eames awoke slowly, her body wracked with pain, and protesting at even the slightest movements. She felt like she often did the morning after an especially heavy gym session, only multiplied by ten. Right at that moment, she would have given anything to slip back into the blissful nothingness of sleep, but it seemed that was not going to happen.

She accepted that fact with extreme reluctance. She was awake now, for better or worse. She tried to move, only to shudder at the pain that flared through her skull at the effort. Definitely for worse, she decided ruefully.

With an equal amount of reluctance, she slowly opened her eyes to discover she could see nothing at all. Confusion reigned for a moment before she realised she was blindfolded.

Panic hit at much the same time as the realisation that she was lying on her stomach on a hard, cold surface with her wrists bound tightly behind her back. Her feet were suspended off the floor, her ankles bound and secured to her wrists by a short length of rope. She was effectively tied up in such a way that she had no hope of manoeuvring into a different position, let alone freeing herself.

She shut her eyes, and struggled to regain some semblance of calm. There was duct tape over her mouth, and if she got herself so worked up that she inadvertently blocked off her one remaining option for breathing…

Slowly, with some effort, her breathing eased, and she slumped back against the floor. How the hell had she gotten herself into a position like this? And, more to the point, where was her partner?

Desperate to figure out what had happened, she ran through her last succession of lucid memories. She remembered going with Goren to Ray Mathers' warehouse. It was a weak lead, but all they had. They'd gone inside… She had stopped to look at something, she didn't remember what. Goren had gone on ahead… She remembered hearing a loud, ugly thud and a grunt of pain. She'd drawn her weapon and run around the corner to find Goren unconscious on the floor, blood free-flowing from where his head had been crunched into the wall…

She remembered kneeling by him and reaching for her radio to call for help…

Beyond that, nothing. Her next clear memory was of waking up here… wherever here was… with a headache the likes of which she hadn't suffered since her last hangover.

Eames froze, suddenly sensing movement next to her. With no way to know who or what was there, she opted to stay frozen and silent. Her heart hammered as she waited for some sign that whatever was there was no threat to her. Still, the restless movement continued, as though someone was struggling on the floor…

Abruptly, someone gave a muffled, incoherent cry, and Eames felt her pulse race once more. Despite being unable to understand the garbled sound, she recognised that muffled voice all the same. Bobby…

She cried out in response, anxious to let him know she was right there beside him even though she could make herself no better understood than he. Silence fell, and then she felt his touch. His forehead brushed against hers in a feather-light touch, reassuring her that he understood, and knew she was there.

She moved against him in response, and felt the same coarse material over his eyes. He, too, was blindfolded, and bound the same as she.

Tears of pain and fear filled her eyes as they lay as close together as their bindings allowed. How had they gotten into a situation like this?

Next to her, she felt Goren shift again, and a moment later she heard an odd scraping sound. She lay still, wondering what he was doing, or trying to do. It wasn't until she heard him gasp aloud that she understood. Somehow, he had managed to peel back the tape that had been covering his mouth.

"Eames…"

Inwardly, insanely, her first thought was one of irritation. Why the hell couldn't he call her Alex for once? Outwardly, she responded in the only way she could, with a tired moan.

"Hang… Hang on… Gonna try get the… the tape off you…"

She wondered how he thought he was going to accomplish that feat with no hands, and blindfolded, no less. After all, her partner might have been an uncertified genius, but Houdini he wasn't.

There was a shuffling sound, accompanied by strained grunts, and she quickly realised he was trying to get as close to her as possible. After a minute, she felt his breath, hot on her face. Her silent question was answered a moment later when she felt his mouth brushing gently over her cheek, searching for the edge of the tape that covered her mouth.

_So help me, Bobby, if you bite me_… she thought as his teeth scraped lightly over her skin, looking for a purchase on the tape.

After minutes of discomfort, he finally succeeded in catching the edge of the tape in his teeth and, with a quick rip, it was gone. As Goren had done only minutes before, Eames drew in a long, ragged gasp of air, grateful not to feel half suffocated any longer.

"Thanks," she whispered finally, hoarsely.

"Are you hurt?" he asked in concern, and she couldn't help but notice the slight tremor in his voice. She couldn't fault that. She doubted she could keep her own voice even.

"Don't think so," she answered. "You?"

"No."

She almost laughed, wondering if he had a clue just how lousy he was at lying to her. She decided to let it slide, at least until a more appropriate moment.

"Do you remember anything, Bobby?"

"We were at Ray Mathers' warehouse. Something… Someone hit me from behind. I never saw who it was."

Eames felt a rush of disappointment. She had hoped he might have had some idea who their attacker was. Slowly, she recounted her own memories in the hope that something more would come to her.

"I was checking something out… I heard you go down. When I got to you, you were already out cold. I went for my radio to call for help…"

She sucked in a sharp breath as a new face came to her, resurfacing among her hazy memories.

"Mathers…"

"Ray?" Goren asked, sounding dazed.

"No, not the dead guy, you big dope," she growled. "It was Erik, his brother. He came out of nowhere… hit me with a crowbar, of all things. God, Bobby, what's he planning to do with us?"

I don't know… except… I think we might be going to find out first hand how those five victims were killed."

She didn't respond to that, mainly because she had a sudden, terrifying feeling that he was right.

"Deakins knew where we were," Goren said softly. "He was expecting us back within a couple of hours. Remember, we were supposed to be meeting with Carver? When we don't show, they'll know something's wrong. Deakins will pull out all the stops to find us. We'll be okay."

"Assuming we're even still in the Five Boroughs. Don't you remember what was discovered about the five victims? You should. You were the one who picked up on it."

He knew what she was talking about.

"They died outside the Five Boroughs… In a forest, or wilderness region."

She gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Deakins isn't going to find us. We're probably not even in New York City anymore."

"Be brave," he whispered, but she heard her own fears echoed in his voice. The harsh truth was that she was right. He damn well knew it, and he was just as afraid as she was.


	2. Missing

_One Police Plaza  
__New York City_

Captain James Deakins looked up expectantly as his office door opened, anticipating the return of his two best detectives from checking out a warehouse belonging to a murder suspect turned murder victim. It was with some disappointment that he saw ADA Ron Carver coming through the doorway instead.

"You look less happy than usual to see me," Carver comment wryly at the look on the captain's face. Deakins shook his head.

"Nothing personal, Ron. I was expecting Goren and Eames. They're late getting back here from Mathers' warehouse." He paused, glancing at his watch and frowning. "In fact, they're nearly two hours late."

"That's unusual for them," Carver murmured.

"Yes," Deakins agreed. "It is."

"Well, I was supposed to meet with them to go over the particulars of the Maloney case, but if they aren't likely to be back soon…"

"Let me try Eames' cell phone," Deakins said. "I'll find out where they are."

Carver stood silently while Deakins made the call. A long moment later he hung up and looked at Carver in confusion and growing concern.

"It's switched off. Eames never switches off her phone."

"Try Detective Goren's cell," Carver said. Deakins did so, only to get the same result.

"His is switched off, too. Something isn't right."

"Perhaps they found themselves in a… delicate situation that required them to turn off their phones," Carver suggested. Deakins immediately dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head.

"Goren and Eames don't work like that. If there'd been anything else going down, they would have called in."

Going to the door, he called across the squad room, summoning over two detectives.

"Something up, Sir?" Detective David Ash asked as he and his partner hurried over. Deakins handed them a slip of paper.

"Get to this address and check it out. Report back to me as soon as possible."

"What are we looking for?" Oliver King asked. Deakins regarded them grimly.

"Evidence of a crime. Get moving, both of you."

Once they'd gone, Carver looked to Deakins questioningly.

"You didn't tell them…"

"There might not be anything to worry about," Deakins said. "If I start broadcasting that we might have two missing cops before knowing anything for certain, the proverbial will well and truly hit the fan. Let's just say that I want Ash and King going to that warehouse without prejudice."

Carver looked through the doorway to the retreating figures of the two detectives.

"Well, let's hope that our concerns prove to be groundless."

Deakins returned to his seat, visibly agitated.

"Those two are going to put me in my grave one of these days. If there isn't a logical explanation for this, they'll both be on desk duty for a month."

* * *

_Ray Mathers' Warehouse,  
__Yonkers_

"Any idea what we're looking for?" King wondered. Ash grunted as they entered the empty structure.

"Not a clue. I guess Deakins figured we'd know it when we see it. Whatever _it_ is. Christ, why do we always get the shit end of the stick all the time?"

"Because Goren and Eames are his stars," King grumbled. "They always get the pick of the crop."

Ash shook his head, irritated.

"Can't knock their record."

"Maybe. I'd hate to be in Eames' place, though. Five years partnered with that nut? It'd drive me up the damn wall."

Ash laughed aloud. "You said it. The guy might be smart, but…"

"What is it?" King wondered as Ash trailed off. Ash indicated the far wall.

"Over there."

The two men strode over to the wall, and Ash leaned down to get a closer look at what he'd spotted from across the floor.

"A gun… Looks standard issue."

"Oh shit," King swore suddenly, drawing his partner's attention.

"What…?" Ash started to ask, and then he saw what he partner was looking at. "Oh no…"

They walked along the wall to where King had indicated. There were two distinct bloodied marks there, one on the wall and the other a pool of blood on the floor. On the floor, smeared with blood, was a police shield.

"Whose badge is that?" King wondered. Ash shook his head.

"Don't know. I can't make out the number through the blood. Don't touch it. We're going to have to bring in CSU."

"Look at that mark on the wall," King said softly, tensely. "What would you say that is… About 6"3… maybe 4?"

Ash nodded.

"Someone got their head slammed into the wall damned hard. Someone who's at least six foot four."

The two men looked at each other, and then Ash pulled out his cell phone and started dialling.

* * *

_11th Floor,  
__One Police Plaza_

"You have news, I gather?" Carver asked as Deakins came striding out of the lift after being summoned upstairs to see his superiors.

"Ash and King found a gun and a police shield inside the warehouse," Deakins told him. "When they checked outside, they found a second gun and shield, and two smashed cell phones in the rubbish."

"Belonging, I assume, to Detective Eames and Detective Goren?" Carver asked. Deakins nodded.

"The shield and gun they found outside belongs to Eames, so we can assume that those inside are Goren's."

"That is not good," Carver said.

"That is a massive understatement," Deakins retorted. "They found blood, too, Ron, and a lot of it."

Carver stared at Deakins in trepidation.

"Blood? Do we know whose blood?"

"CSU are out there now, and samples have been sent off to forensics for analysis… But Ash and King seemed fairly sure that the blood was Goren's."

"So what is the next move?"

"Goren and Eames were investigating a string of homicides that we suspect were the work of a serial killer. With each of the five victims, approximately five days had elapsed from when they went missing, to their estimated times of death."

"So if that same individual has Detective Goren and Detective Eames…" Carver started to say. Deakins nodded, pale and openly fearful.

"We have less than five days to find them, and the clock's ticking."

* * *

_A few hours later,  
__One Police Plaza_

"We got an ID on the blood," Deakins told Carver, Ash and King in his office a few hours later. "It's Goren's blood. Both lots."

"Shit," King muttered. "So, what now, Captain? We read Goren and Eames' files on this case. They only had one viable suspect, and he's turned up dead."

"Go back to the original five victims," Deakins told them. "One of the last things Goren and Eames figured out was that at least three of them were killed outside the New York City limits. If we can pinpoint where they died, we may have a chance of finding Goren and Eames."

"We can't do this on our own, Sir," Ash said quietly. "If we're going to have any chance of finding them, we need help."

Deakins nodded his compliance.

"I've taken that into consideration. There'll be extra personnel here within the hour. Now get moving. We're on a deadline as of right now, gentlemen."

"Who are you getting in to help?" Carver asked once Ash and King had gone.

"Lyn Bishop and Mike Logan."

Carver blanched visibly.

"Logan? From Staten Island?"

"I know. He's a hot shot and a hot head, but I also know that if I put him on this case, he won't quit until he breaks it. And right now, I don't particularly care about going by the book, Ron. Two of my people are missing, and if what we suspect is what actually has happened, they are in a lot of trouble. I'm hoping that in pairing Logan and Bishop, they might just have the grit to crack this one and find Goren and Eames alive."

"I pray you're right about that, Jim," Carver said softly. "For the sake of those detectives, I pray you are right."


	3. Confessions in the Dark

_Unknown location_

"So how badly are you hurt?" Eames asked finally, deciding enough was enough with her partner's strong and silent routine. The question was met with a long silence from Goren.

"I'm not…"

"Please, Bobby," she begged him softly. "Don't lie to me. Not now."

"My head hurts pretty bad," he admitted reluctantly.

"I'll bet it does," she agreed. "The son of a bitch damn near split your head open."

Goren didn't answer that. It didn't surprise him, though. The truth was, his head hurt worse than any headache or migraine he'd ever had before in his life. He was quietly glad of the blindfold, for he doubted that he would be able to tolerate any light. Even his partner's soft voice was like someone bashing on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer.

Rather than keeping quiet, though, he instead tried to divert the conversation.

"What about you?"

If she could have hit him, she probably would have. She had to answer truthfully, though, after demanding the same honesty of him.

"My head hurts, too," she said. "And my right shoulder hurts… I think it might be dislocated. I'm scared, Bobby."

"So am I," he admitted.

Hot tears filled her eyes behind the rough material of the blindfold, and a miserable sob escaped her before she could stop it. A moment later, she felt her partner shift beside her, and felt his cheek, rough with the usual stubble, brush gently against her forehead.

"You need to shave."

Goren froze, taken aback by the unexpected comment. A moment later, he started to laugh softly.

"It really bugs you, doesn't it? That I'm hardly ever clean shaven."

She had to smile, despite their predicament.

"Just another of your quirks that I've had to learn to live with. I guess it's just one of the many things that makes you who you are. It used to bug me, but it doesn't anymore."

She hesitated, then ventured a question. "Do I ever… You know…"

"Do you ever bug me?"

"Yeah."

Goren smiled faintly.

"No, you don't. I don't think you've ever… _bugged_ me. You've always been there when I needed you. I… I've never been able to say how much I appreciate that."

She felt a spark of warmth light up somewhere inside her. Leaning across, she found his forehead and planted a soft kiss there. She tasted blood, but said nothing of that.

"I think you just said it. Thankyou, Bobby."

A blanket of quiet fell, and they lay in silence for a while, frightened and captive to an unknown menace, but taking some small comfort in each other's presence and in knowing that at least they were not alone.

"Aw, look at that. You got your gags off."

Both Goren and Eames froze at the new voice. Footsteps came around and halted in front of them.

"I guess I could tape your mouths up again but I suppose I don't really need to. Even if you wanted to waste your breath yelling for help, no one would hear you. Not where we are."

"Erik?" Goren asked tentatively. Their captor laughed.

"That's right, Detective. I bet your pretty partner clued you in there, didn't she? Well, never mind. Oh, sorry about the way I had to tie you both up. Normally I'm a bit more considerate than that, but I just didn't want to take any chances. I mean, you managed to get the tape off your mouths after all, didn't you? I just didn't want my plans spoiled by you getting yourselves loose. And this really does promise to be something spectacular."

"You're insane," Eames said hoarsely, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "You're out of your mind, Erik. If you don't let us go, you'll have every cop in New York after your blood."

"She's right, Erik," Goren added. "You'll be lucky if you live long enough to be indicted."

Mathers laughed again.

"You two have a good sense of humour. I mean, c'mon! You didn't even know it was me until Detective Eames saw me in the warehouse. I wouldn't have come in here to talk to you now if it weren't for that. So don't kid yourselves that any of your cop buddies are going to be busting down the front door any time soon. Even if they do somehow manage to work out that I'm their guy, this place where we are now is listed under an alias I picked at random years ago. So, we're perfectly safe for the time being."

Mathers shifted, then placed a water-filled container on the floor in front of each detective.

"I've got water here for both of you. It should hold you for now. I've gotta go, but I promise it won't be long now. I promise."

Then he was gone.

"What won't be long?" Eames wondered helplessly. Goren didn't respond, but rather stretched himself forward a few inches until his lips closed over a straw. Moments later, blessedly cool water trickled down his dry, sore throat. He swallowed a few mouthfuls of water before speaking again.

"It's okay, Eames. It's just water."

She, too, stretched forward and managed to take a few sips.

"Well," she said finally, "I guess he's not going to let us die of dehydration, at least."

"I wish I knew what he was planning," Goren said.

"If it's anything like his other five victims," Eames said grimly, "then I'd guess we've got three, maybe four days of torture to look forward to before he pulls the plug on us."

"We'll get our chance," Goren murmured, sounding more confident than Eames suspected he really felt. "We just have to be ready when it happens. And we have to stick together. Whatever happens, we have to stick together."

Eames was silent for a long moment, considering both his words and their bleak situation.

"You really think Deakins will pull out all the stops to find us?"

"I know he will. I'll bet he already is. We'll get through this, Alex. Trust me."

She smiled tearfully, feeling somehow reassured by his use of her first name.

"I do trust you," she answered softly.


	4. New Partners

_Approx. 5pm  
__11th floor, One Police Plaza_

Detective Lyn Bishop entered the Major Case Squad room, her stomach doing almost uncontrollable flip-flops. It had been months since she'd set foot inside these walls, and the idea of seeing certain people again was the specific cause of those tummy flip-flops.

Most specifically, it was the thought of seeing Bobby Goren and Alex Eames again.

She paused as she came within sight of their desks, only to find them unoccupied. A slight pang of disappointment struck at her, along with a more welcome feeling of relief. She just wasn't sure how ready she was to see them again.

"Hey, Bishop!"

A semi-familiar voice reached her ears, and she looked around to see a fellow detective approaching.

"Hey, Ash," she greeted him, silently thankful that she was able to remember his name. He smiled at her, but she couldn't help but notice how pale he was. She wondered if it had anything to do with the reason she had been called back to the squad.

"Ash, do you have any idea what this is about?" she asked. "All I know is that I got an urgent call to get here as fast as possible."

His smile faded noticeably.

"Deakins will fill you in. Just go and wait in the Stats Room. I'll let him know you're here."

"Okay… Oh, do you know when Goren and Eames will be back? I'd like to say hi to them…"

She trailed off as abrupt silence fell around her, and several officers who had heard her words froze in the middle of what they were doing to stare at her. And… was it her imagination… did Ash actually flinch?

"Just go and wait in the Stats Room," he told her quietly. "You'll get the low down soon enough."

She went, suddenly feeling horribly unsettled.

* * *

The Stats Room already had an occupant when she got there. An older detective… she figured he was maybe around the same age as Goren. Not exactly good looking, she mused, but he seemed to have an air of authority around him.

He looked around as she entered, and though his smile was friendly enough, nor could she miss the way his gaze swept up and down her body.

"Mike Logan," he introduced himself, extending his hand. She accepted, if only to be polite.

"Lyn Bishop."

"You can call me Mike," he offered. She didn't so much as twitch.

"You can call me Bishop."

To her irritation, his grin widened at her comeback, and she could read the look in his eyes only too well. She was happy enough to be back at Major Case, but not if it meant partnering this moron.

There was movement behind her, and she turned to find Deakins standing there.

"Sir…"

He nodded, and she realised disconcertedly that he was as pale as Ash had been. What was going on…?

"Good to see you again, Bishop. Have a seat."

She sat in the empty seat next to Logan, ignoring the grin he flashed in her direction.

"Thankyou both for coming so quickly at such short notice," Deakins told them. "We need your help."

"Captain Deakins, what is this about?" Bishop asked, feeling that knot in her stomach tighten. Deakins handed them each a thick manilla folder.

"We have a serial killer on the loose. You'll find in those folders all the information on the five victims that he's given us so far. I want you two to lead the taskforce to get him."

Logan frowned.

"What's the catch? I mean, this is a high profile case. How come Goren and Eames aren't handling it?"

Deakins seemed to pale even more.

"The catch, Detective Logan, is that we're working against time. He took another two victims early this morning, and judging on past experience with this bastard, we only have four days to find them before our killer sends them back to us in body bags. As for Goren and Eames…"

To Bishop's quiet astonishment, Deakins faltered and seemed to sway slightly, as though he were suffering a turn of some sort. She was about to risk asking if he was all right, when Logan snorted derisively with laughter.

"You mean to say that the mighty Goren came across a case he couldn't crack?"

"Shut up, Logan!" Bishop snapped, glaring angrily at him. Deakins spoke quietly, his voice audibly strained.

"Goren and Eames were working this case. I don't know how close they were to identifying the killer. I have to assume they were very close, though."

"What's going on?" Logan asked, his smirk fading rapidly as even he finally realised that something was very wrong. Deakins answered slowly, making a noticeable effort to keep his voice even.

"The two people that were taken by the killer this morning are Goren and Eames."

Both Logan and Bishop stared at Deakins in shock.

"You're not serious," Logan said hoarsely. Deakins regarded Logan grimly, without saying a word. The detective blanched visibly. "Oh shit… You are…"

Bishop sat frozen, a cold rush of fear sweeping down through her body in waves. The thought was almost impossible to get her head around. Cops caught serial killers. They didn't get taken by them. And yet, there is was. Bobby and Alex _had_ been taken by the very killer they had been trying to catch.

"Four days?" she echoed, forcing herself back to reality. "Why four days, specifically?"

Deakins indicated the files he'd given them.

"The MO is the same with each of the five victims. There is a period of approximately five days between when they each went missing, and their estimated times of death. We have to assume it won't be any different this time around."

"Do you have any ideas exactly what happened to Goren and Eames?" Logan asked. All sign of banter and joking was gone now from his craggy features, and he was watching Deakins with a look that was all business.

"They went to check out a warehouse early this morning," Deakins answered. "It belongs to a man who was a suspect until he turned up dead two days ago. I expected them to be a couple of hours at the most, but they never came back. I sent Ash and King to check the place out, and they found Goren and Eames' shields, guns and cell phones, and a large quantity of blood belonging to Detective Goren."

"Shot?" Bishop asked, starting to feel positively sick to her stomach. Deakins shook his head.

"No. Evidence suggests that he had his head slammed into the wall pretty hard."

"That would be as bad as getting shot," Logan said. "If he took as bad a blow as that, any number of things could happen, from concussion to a stroke."

Deakins nodded.

"As I said, the clock is ticking. We have very little time to solve this. Please do the best you can, both of you. I don't want Goren and Eames to be numbers six and seven in this bastard's tally."

Logan stood up, followed closely by Bishop.

"We'll do everything we can, Captain, starting with checking out that warehouse. Bishop?"

She nodded her agreement.

"Let's go."

* * *

_En route,  
__Ray Mathers' Warehouse_

"Is that Goren's notebook?" Logan asked, indicating the bulky folder that Bishop had collected from Oliver King on their way to the car. Bishop nodded.

"Yes. It was in Goren and Eames' SUV outside the warehouse when CSU arrived. I guess our guy was in too much of a hurry to bother checking it out. Lucky for us."

Logan grimaced. "Depends on whether it's any use to us. Tell me, does any of what's in there make sense to you?"

Bishop hesitated in answering, flipping slowly through the pages of notes that Goren had scribbled on the case.

"Some," she admitted finally. "What would really help would be if he named a suspect other than Ray Mathers."

Logan pulled up outside the warehouse.

"I worked with Goren once. He wrote everything in that damned notebook. If he knew anything more than we do now, it'll be in those pages."

Bishop looked curiously at Logan as they passed the police line and entered into the building. She had expected him to deride Goren's use of the notebook, but instead she heard a grudging respect in his voice. He caught the look on her face, and smiled wryly.

"I admit, I didn't take anything about Goren seriously when I first met him, especially his obsession with psychology. But then we got into a really bad situation… We had five or six corrupt prison wardens ready to beat the life out of us… I mean that literally… and Goren talked them out of it. Me, I would've just opened fire. But Goren actually managed to talk them around. He saved both our lives. I couldn't not respect him after that."

Bishop nodded in wordless understanding. Logan regarded her questioningly.

"You ever worked with either of them before?"

She nodded again.

"Last year. I was partnered with Goren for a few months while Eames was on leave having her baby."

"Really? How'd you find working with him?"

Bishop had to smile at the memories.

"He drove me crazy at first. I'd go home at night and scream into my pillow. I couldn't understand how Eames was able to work with him like she did, for as long as she had."

"I know what you mean," Logan agreed. "When I first saw them together, I don't think I'd ever seen such an odd looking partnership. But I have to admit, they're good together. Really good."

Bishop nodded.

"Yes. They are."

They rounded a corner, and came on the scene.

"Ah, shit," Logan growled. "Look at this…"

Bishop approached the wall, feeling the butterflies return good and strong. It was one thing, she thought numbly, to examine a scene like this when the victim was a stranger, but when it was someone she knew… Someone she had worked with…

"Ouch," Logan muttered. "Son of a bitch wasn't taking any chances. He really smashed Goren into the wall. Look at that blood spatter. I'd guess that Goren must have been standing right here… The killer must have used something to hit Goren with. He couldn't have done this much damage bare-handed." Logan shook his head grimly. "Lights out. Goren probably never knew what hit him."

"He would have had to take them both out in pretty quick succession," Bishop said, tearing her gaze away from the blood on the wall. "Whichever one of them went down first, the other never had a chance to radio for help."

Logan looked back over his shoulder. The way the building was structured, Goren and Eames would not have had to be too far apart to be out of sight of each other.

"I'm betting he took Goren out first. Probably thought Eames would be an easy target once Goren was out of the way."

"More fool him," Bishop said dryly. Logan bit back the urge to smirk.

"Normally I'd agree with you, Bishop, but our killer got the better of them this time. Eames couldn't have been with Goren when he was taken out…"

"But she would have heard it happen," Bishop said.

"Right. And being a cop through and through, there are two things she would have done before thinking about radioing for help."

"Draw her gun and go check on her partner," Bishop concluded, seeing the point Logan was trying to make. Logan nodded.

"Exactly. All the bastard had to do was wait for her. She would have been a sitting duck to him." He sighed audibly. "There's nothing here that can help us. We need to try following up any other leads they had."

Bishop nodded. "I'll keep going through Goren's notes. There's got to be something in there that can help us."

"C'mon," Logan said, eyeing the scene grimly one last time. "Let's go."


	5. Crossing Jurisdictions

_The following day,  
__CSU Headquarters,  
__One Police Plaza._

"Mack?"

Detective Mack Taylor looked up from his desk as Stella strode in, and had to swallow the urge to smile. Normally she ragged on him about not sleeping, but for once she looked no better. As it was, he couldn't resist commenting.

"Had any sleep at all, Stella?"

She glowered at him.

"Don't start, Mack. You know none of us have had any sleep since yesterday morning, and you're not the one to start lecturing. Particularly not while we've got two missing cops and a serial killer on the loose."

He nodded, apologetic."

"I'm sorry, you're right. What have you got?"

She waved a folder at him.

"A bit of research for you. I was running a comparison on the wounds of our five vics, and it set the alarm bells off. Their wounds, and the manner of death is a match to those of eleven people murdered in Florida two and half years ago."

Mack at up slowly, his interest piqued.

"Florida?"

"Yes. And the killer was never caught."

"Sounds like he may have migrated north. Who ran the investigation down there?"

Stella grinned, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

"I can't get you the guy that ran the investigation. He retired and moved to Germany a year ago. But I can get you the guy that ran the CSU investigation."

"Who…?"

"Lieutenant Horatio Caine."

* * *

_CSI Headquarters  
__Miami Dade County  
__Florida_

Horatio Caine sat back slowly, taking a rare moment to shut his eyes and rest. The team had just wrapped up a big case, and so far they'd had no other callouts.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It had been young Ryan Wolfe who had found the last piece of a very intricate and complex puzzle, allowing them to finally nail a vicious killer. Wolfe might have been the newcomer, but he was proving in spades that hiring him had been the right thing to do.

The phone rang.

Horatio frowned in mild irritation and, as he picked it up, said a quick prayer that it was not another case.

"Caine," he answered, only partly successful at keeping his voice neutral.

"Didn't wake you up, did I?" a familiar voice asked at the other end. Horatio sat up quickly.

"Mack Taylor?"

"Yeah," Mack confirmed. "How're you doing, Horatio?"

"Good," Horatio answered warily, instinct warning him that something had to be very wrong for him to be getting a call from the head of the NYPD CSU. "I'm good. And you?"

"Had better days," Mack admitted. "I'm going to get straight to why I called, Horatio. We've got a very bad situation here, and we're running out of time fast. I'm hoping you might be able to help."

"What's it about?"

"We've got a serial killer on the loose. We have five victims so far and the likelihood of another two if we don't catch this guy soon. We don't know a lot, but the wounds on our vics apparently are a match for the wounds on eleven victims that turned up down your way about two years back. According to our info, you led the CSI investigation."

Horatio's breath caught audibly in his throat.

"Tell me, Mack, do any of your victims have multiple puncture wounds on their bodies?"

"All of them do."

"And arrow wounds? Like a crossbow and arrow?"

"Yeah, those too."

"The Hunter," Horatio said hoarsely.

"Sorry?"

"The Hunter," Horatio repeated. "We never caught him. By the time we got an ID on him, he'd disappeared."

"You got an ID?" Mack asked, startled and hopeful.

"Yes and no. The ID he was using down here was false, and we were never able to link it to any other ID. But what we did get was a sketch of him from the individual who was meant to have been his twelfth victim."

Mack felt his hopes suddenly soar, and had to forcibly put a dampener on them.

"You had a survivor?"

"Yes. If your guy is the same man that escaped us two and half years ago, then you really do have a serious problem on your hands. Especially if he's upped the ante, and taken two hostages. How long have the last two been missing?"

"Over twenty-four hours now. We know we have less than four days to find them. The entire NYPD has gone on high alert over this one."

"I think I can understand why."

"No, Horatio, I don't think you can. The two that were taken yesterday just happen to be the two detectives from the Major Case Squad who were investigating the killings."

Horatio felt his stomach roll unpleasantly.

"Two cops…"

"That's right. And if they die, we're going to have an entire police force out for blood. Now I'd like to catch this son of a bitch alive, but I want to find the two missing detectives alive even more. I need your help, Horatio."

"Mack, I'd like to come to New York, if that's okay with you."

Horatio could almost hear the sigh of relief at the other end.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"I'd also like to bring my team with me."

The offer was unexpected, but not altogether unwelcome.

"How many?"

Horatio did a quick tally in his mind. Himself, Calleigh, Eric, Ryan… and Alexx…

"Five, including me," he answered.

"How soon can you be here?"

Horatio smiled faintly.

"We'll charter a plane…" He glanced at the clock. It read ten-thirty. "We'll be there by two."

* * *

_11th Floor  
__One Police Plaza_

Deakins looked at Mack Taylor long and hard before responding to what he'd just been told.

"Let me get this straight, Detective Taylor. You effectively invited an entire CSI unit up here from Miami because of a few similarities in the wounds sustained by our victims, to those of victims from serial killings two and a half years ago?"

"Not just a few similarities, Captain Deakins. Almost everything is identical, from the wounds to the manner of death."

"So we've got a copycat on our hands? Is that what you're telling me?"

Mack didn't flinch at Deakins' snappish tone.

"No, sir. The Miami killer was never caught. The killings stopped after his last victim escaped."

Deakins froze, staring at Mack in shock.

"They had a survivor?"

"Yes, sir. A survivor who gave them a picture via a sketch artist."

The captain let his breath out in a rush.

"I'm sorry, Mack. I don't mean to be impatient…"

"It's perfectly understandable, sir. I know I'd be the same if it were any of my people that were missing."

Deakins looked past Mack, out his office door to two desks that sat unoccupied near the middle of the floor. He could damn near picture Alex and Bobby sitting there, doing their paperwork… trading ideas and information… Not having them around was like being served an empty plate at your favourite restaurant. And the idea that maybe he might not see them again alive was unthinkable.

He looked back to Mack, all too aware of the ashen colour of his own face and shadows under his eyes from worry and lack of sleep.

"When will they be getting here?"

Mack smiled faintly, relieved.

"Within the hour."

* * *

_CSI Headquarters,  
__Miami, Florida_

Lieutenant Horatio Caine waited silently for his team to gather together before speaking. Finally, Ryan Wolfe and Calleigh Duquesne arrived, completing the number. Even their coroner, Alexx Woods, was there, at Horatio's request.

"Horatio, what's going on?" Alexx asked, speaking for all of them. Horatio spoke in a quiet, grim voice.

"With the exception of Wolfe, all of you should remember our serial killer, The Hunter."

Momentary silence fell.

"The Hunter?" Wolfe echoed. "I've heard of him. The one that got away…"

"That's right, he did," Horatio conceded. "And now it appears our boy has resurfaced in New York."

"New York?" Calleigh asked in surprise. Horatio nodded.

"I spoke to Mack Taylor just a short while ago. So far they have five bodies, and the count could be set to rise. Our killer has gotten cocky. Two detectives from the Major Case Squad, who were investigating the New York killings, have disappeared. Mack said the evidence points to their having been taken by the killer."

"Oh, shit," Delko muttered. "How long ago?"

"Just over twenty-four hours," Horatio answered. "That means we have less than four days to find them alive."

"We…?" Alexx echoed. Horatio regarded them all grimly.

"There's a chartered Gulf Stream waiting for us at the airport. Grab your things, all of you. We're going to New York."

* * *

"Horatio…"

He looked around to find Alexx still standing there, looking confused.

"What is it, Alexx?"

"Horatio, I can't just pack up and go to New York… My kids…"

"I'm sorry to put you in this position, Alexx," Horatio apologised softly. "But this is a priority situation. There are two missing cops who are running out of time fast. We know this guy. We know his style, his signature, and we know just what it is that he does to his victims. They need our help over there."

"But what do they need me for?"

"They need you to look at their first five victims. There might just be something you'll spot that they've missed. They're looking for any clue as to where the victims were killed to give them some idea of where to look for their missing detectives."

"Horatio, I hate to say this," Alexx said softly, "but I really don't like their chances. If this is the same killer, you know how good he is. Even if we do somehow manage to track him down, odds are it's not going to be in time to save those two missing cops."

Horatio nodded, accepting her words though he clearly was not in agreement with them.

"Well, Alexx, we're going to try."


	6. New Help Arrives

_11th Floor  
__One Police Plaza,  
__New York_

Captain James Deakins watched from the safety of his office as officers from the NYPD Crime Scene Unit arrived, accompanied by members of a forensics team that had flown out from Miami at the special request of the head of NY CSU, Detective Mack Taylor. When Mack had come and spoken to him about wanting to bring in the contingent from Miami, Deakins conceded that he had initially been angry. It had seemed to him that Mack had gone over his head in inviting the team from Miami to join them.

He trusted Mack's judgment implicitly, though, and if the detective believed this crew from sunny Florida could help, then they were more than welcome to join the party.

Deakins winced visibly at his own choice of words. Some party. Two of his best detectives had been missing for nearly thirty-six hours, now. Nearly two days, and they seemed no closer to finding them.

That, of course, was not the fault of the detectives working the case. David Ash and Oliver King had not gone off duty from the moment they discovered Eames and Goren's badges, guns and smashed-up cell phones in the derelict warehouse belonging to their deceased suspect. And since being brought into the case, Mike Logan and Lyn Bishop had been working their asses off trying to identify the killer. While none of those four detectives – with the possible exception of Bishop – had huge liking for Goren, given his odd ways, they all still respected the fact that he was a good cop. More to the point, he was a good cop who was in serious trouble. Add feisty Alex Eames to the mix, and you had a whole city full of cops who were currently tearing the city apart searching for some sign of the missing detectives.

Deakins shut his eyes against a burgeoning headache.

If Goren and Eames did not survive their ordeal, then God help their killer, because no one else would.

"Captain Deakins?"

Deakins looked to see Mack Taylor standing in his doorway, looking apologetic.

"Sorry to bother you, Sir…"

"No bother, Mack," Deakins said dismissively. "Talk to me. What's happening?"

"Well, the team from Miami have arrived. They brought with them everything on the serial killer they dubbed The Hunter."

"That's the killer that got away from them?"

"Yes, sir."

Deakins drew in a steadying breath, recalling what Mack at told him about the Miami team having an image of the killer.

"Lead the way, Mack."

* * *

_Task Force Command Centre_

Mack led Deakins through to the room that had set aside for the task force that had been rapidly thrown together in the wake of Goren and Eames' disappearance. People were moving back and forth with determination, Deakins noted dully, but with little hope. With every hour that passed, they all knew damned well that the chances of Goren and Eames surviving steadily decreased. Mack ushered Deakins across the room to where two people stood waiting.

"Captain Deakins, I'd like to introduce you to Lieutenant Horatio Caine, and Calleigh Duquesne, from the Miami Dade CSU."

Deakins shook hands with both, and Mack went on quickly. "The rest of Horatio's team have joined my team at CSI headquarters, but they have information that hopefully will help us."

"Okay, Lieutenant," Deakins said, "tell me what you know."

"We believe the killer that you have running loose is the same man that escaped us two and a half years ago in Miami," Horatio explained. "We dubbed him The Hunter, because he'd take his victims deep into the wilderness, set them loose and then hunt them down. We had eleven victims in the time that we were aware he was active, and with every victim approximately five days elapsed from the time of abduction to the time of death.

"The victims were found to have been tortured to various degrees. We believe he would have kept going, but the person who was to have been his twelfth victim managed to escape. From him we got a sketch of what our killer looked like, as well as knowledge of his precise methods."

Deakins took the sheet of paper that Horatio handed to him, and found himself looking into a pair of glacier blue eyes that sent chills down his spine. Finally, he looked back up at Horatio.

"Thankyou for coming, Lieutenant. I appreciate your willingness to help."

Horatio nodded wordlessly. Deakins looked around, and spotted the person he wanted.

"Ash!"

David Ash hurried over.

"Sir?"

Deakins handed him the sheet of paper.

"Get this into circulation. This may be our killer. I want him identified as soon as possible."

Ash hesitated for just a fraction, staring down at the image with a dark look on his face, then ran from the room to do as he'd been told. Deakins looked back to Horatio, Calleigh and Mack.

"We really do appreciate you coming, Lieutenant, Caine," he said quietly. "My people are just about at breaking point. The two detectives that are missing are greatly respected here. I'd like to bring the killer in alive, but if Goren and Eames are killed… I just can't promise that we will take him alive."

"I understand," Horatio said quietly. "Right now, Captain Deakins, I can assure you that our priority is the location and rescue of your detectives. If we have to decide between the life of the suspect, and the lives of your detectives, then I promise it will be your detectives."

Deakins looked reassured by Horatio's words.

"Thankyou, Lieutenant."


	7. The Hunt Begins

_Somewhere in the Adirondack Mountains_

Eames awoke slowly, her head spinning. For a long while, that was all she was aware of, and she dared not open her eyes for fear that she would find she really was spinning, that it wasn't just inside her head.

Slowly, very slowly, she became aware that she was no longer tied up, nor lying on a cold, cement surface. She was surrounded by fresh (if bitingly cold) air, and when she moved her hands, her fingers scraped over soft dirt.

Curiosity finally won over, and Eames opened her eyes.

The first thing she became aware of was sunlight, filtering through treetops that were high above her head. She blinked hard, her eyes slowly adjusting to the daylight after nearly two days in complete darkness. Taking a chance, she moved her head slowly to the side, trying to get a look at her surroundings. She could see little more than bushes, shrubs and trees.

Groaning softly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in her wrists. They were red raw, and still bleeding from the ropes that bound her so tightly from the last two days. She found on closer examination that her ankles were no better.

Grimacing, she looked around slowly, and that was when she saw him. Lying on the ground nearby, unmoving and apparently still unconscious, was Goren. Moving slowly out of consideration for her still spinning head, Eames made her way over to her partner.

"Bobby…"

Her throat was dry, and hoarse. A side effect, she supposed, of whatever their last lot of water had been doped with. Sitting beside him, she grasped his shoulder, and shook him gently.

"Bobby, wake up."

He stirred at her touch, a small miracle considering the head wound he had. His face was half covered in dried blood from where his head had been slammed into the wall by Mathers at the warehouse. How long ago was that…? Nearly two days, Eames figured.

"C'mon, you've gotta wake up," she mumbled, realising at the same time that she would have liked nothing better than to lie down next to him and just go back to sleep. His eyes opened slowly, then he groaned and shut them again.

"My head hurts…" he moaned.

"I know," she said, starting to feel fresh anxiety clutching at her gut. "But you've gotta wake up. Bobby, I don't know where we are."

His eyes opened again. He stared up at her for a long moment, then finally pushed himself up into a sitting position, cringing at the searing pain through his skull at the movement. When the pain subsided, he looked around slowly, taking in their surroundings in growing confusion.

"Where are we?" he muttered. Eames shook her head, and then regretted the movement, wincing at the fresh onset of vertigo.

"I don't know. But more to the point, where is Mathers?"

Grimacing, Goren got unsteadily to his feet. Eames noted wordlessly that his wrists, too, bore the bruised and bloodied marks of their two days bound in Mathers' house.

He held a hand out to her, and she accepted it, getting up and looking around.

"Some sort of forest," Goren muttered, more to himself than to Eames. "Feels like a fairly high altitude, so it could be a mountain range…"

He trailed off as his gaze came to rest on something. She followed his gaze, and felt a chill race through her body. Nearby, an arrow was embedded in a tree, holding a single sheet of paper in place. Goren exchanged glances with Eames, then walked over and tore the paper away.

"Please tell me there's a map on that," she pleaded. Goren looked grim.

"No such luck. It says, 'Detectives, I promised you wouldn't have long to wait. Now you get to learn firsthand how I dispatched my other prey. You are both going to join me in the ultimate hunt. I, of course, am the hunter, and you two are the prey. You have three hours to run, and then I'll be coming after you. If you survive until midday of the third day of the hunt, you will be released. Good luck. PS, I suggest you head west.' Hell… I think we're in trouble."

"If he wants us to go west," Eames muttered, "then I say we go east."

Goren stared at the note for a long moment, then shook his head.

"No… If we go east, we'll run straight into him."

"How can you know that, Bobby?"

"This guy… He's a hunter. He's giving three full days to this. It would be too easy, even for him, to give us false clues. He wants a challenge. He wants us to get as far away from him as possible before he comes after us."

Eames shut her eyes for a moment, pressing her palm to her forehead.

"How did we end up in this mess?"

She felt a large, strong hand gently grasp her own, and looked down to see that he had taken her hand.

"We'll be okay. As long as we stick together, we'll be okay."

She regarded him doubtfully.

"Mathers has set us up to fail, no matter what we do. Even if we can keep him at bay, we'll be lucky to survive the nights. Don't you feel how cold it is now? Look at us!"

For the first time, he realised what she meant. He wore only his trousers and shirt. His shoes and socks, his undershirt and his jacket were gone. Eames was in a similar position. No shoes, no jacket, only her slacks and form-fitting tank top. She was right, he realised glumly. Even if they lived through this first day, the freezing cold night would probably kill them both.

His grip on her hand tightened just fractionally.

"I'm not going to quit, Alex. Don't you, okay?"

Tears filled her eyes.

"I'm scared, Bobby. I don't think I've ever been this scared before in my life."

He drew her to him, and hugged her fiercely. It was, he thought dimly, the first contact of this sort they'd ever had in their whole history of knowing each other. She hugged him back, her slender arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her head resting against his broad chest.

"I'm frightened, too," he confessed softly, "but I'm not ready to die just yet, either, and I'll be damned if I'm going to give in without a fight."

"Okay," she whispered finally. "Just promise me that whatever happens, we won't let ourselves be separated?"

He nodded.

"I promise you that."

She drew back from him, and looked up at him. Once it would have left her disconcerted, but now it comforted her instead to see her own tears reflected in his eyes. He was just as afraid as she was and somehow, knowing that gave her strength. She took a small step away from him, but didn't let go of his hand.

"Okay. Let's go."

* * *

_Three hours later_

"I have to stop," Alex said tiredly. "My feet are killing me, Bobby."

He nodded in understanding. His feet hurt, too, after hours of trekking barefoot over all sorts of rough terrain.

They had just come upon a small stream, and it seemed the perfect opportunity to stop and recuperate. Sitting on the edge of the stream, they drank the icy water, and bathed their tired, aching and bloodied feet.

"We can't stay here for long," Bobby murmured. "Our three hours is about up. He'll be coming after us soon."

She didn't answer that, but rather scooped some water up in a large leaf and, using her fingertips, took a moment to gently wash away the blood that was caked on his face.

"How's your head?"

He answered her honestly. Considering their situation, he saw no point in lying.

"No better. Feels like someone hit me with a sledgehammer."

"I just hope it doesn't get any worse. You need medical attention for it."

She finished washing the blood from his face, and then started cleaning his wrists. When she finished, he took the liberty of doing the same for her, gently washing the blood away from her wrists.

"How's your shoulder?" he asked as he attempted to clean her up. "You said you thought it might be dislocated."

She grimaced. Even with a serious head wound, his memory was still sharp as a tack.

"It's not dislocated… At least, it's not anymore. But it hurts like hell."

"Can I look?"

She complied by pulling the shoulder of her tank top back to reveal a bruised and swollen shoulder joint.

"Hang on a second," he murmured. "I think I can do something for that."

She watched as he scooped up a palm full of mud from the stream bed, and packed it with moss from the bank. He then pressed it gently to her shoulder. She cringed and had to stifle a cry of pain, but that pain soon faded to a dull ache as the makeshift cold pack soothed the inflamed joint. He directed her to hold the pack in place and then, before she had a chance to protest, he ripped the sleeves from his shirt and fashioned them into a crude bandage which he wound around her shoulder to hold the mudpack in place.

"Bobby…" she growled softly. He gave a lopsided shrug.

"What good will sleeves do me anyway? How's that?"

"Better," she conceded. "Thankyou."

He looked up to the sky. The sun was almost directly overhead, telling him it was around noon. He was about to suggest they get moving again when the unexpected sound of a twig snapping somewhere not too far away broke the silence.

They looked at each other wordlessly, the same fear and confusion registering in both their faces. If they had three hours to run, then surely Mathers could not have caught up with them so soon… Unless…

Cold chills of panics hitting her in waves, Alex held her hand out to Bobby.

"The note," she whispered, her voice tense with fear. "Let me see it."

He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her. She read through it quickly, and a moment later looked up at him, wide-eyed with fear.

"I think we misread this. It says we had three hours to run, but it doesn't say from when. We just assumed it meant from when we woke up and found the note…"

Bobby knew exactly what she meant.

"It probably meant from when he dumped us. We could have been unconscious most of that time…"

"Which means he's probably been right on our tail the whole time," Alex finished off.

A loud whistle shattered the stillness, and they both ducked instinctively. A dull thud could be heard, and when they looked again, there was an arrow embedded in the trunk of a tree where Alex's head had been only seconds before.

Bobby reacted instantly, grabbing her hand and plunging into the thick foliage.

* * *

They ran blindly, with no real idea of where they were going, wanting only to put as much distance between themselves and their pursuer as possible. There was no sound to suggest he was close behind them, but they were willing to take no chances. Still they ran, holding tightly to each other's hands.

Alex was breathing raggedly, and Bobby was having to almost drag her along, forcing her to keep up with his long strides. She was almost ready to beg him to leave her and keep going when another whistle, lower pitched than the last, reached their ears. Alex gasped as Bobby literally lifted her off her feet and hauled her around in front of him, effectively shielding her with his body.

An instant later, he screamed in pain and staggered forward, finally crashing to the ground. Alex went down with him, barely avoiding being crushed beneath his bulk.

Dazed and frightened, she scrambled up, and saw what had brought her friend and partner down. Embedded in his back was a metal ball, about half the size of a billiard ball and covered with long spikes.

Alex looked around in panic. She could hear the sound of someone crashing towards them now through the undergrowth, still a ways off but clearly close enough to have heard Bobby's scream of pain. Unless she did something fast, Mathers would be on them in a matter of minutes.

She looked around wildly, and that was when she saw it. Hidden by thick shrubs and overhanging vines was an opening in the rock wall. Had Bobby not gone down where he did, they would have missed it entirely. As it was, she judged it was just big enough for them to get through. She could only hope and pray that it was not already occupied.

"Bobby," she whispered urgently, and he looked around at her, his eyes starting to glaze over from the pain he was in. She pointed to the opening, hoping he understood. He did and, with obvious effort, clambered across the uneven ground, just squeezing his bulky frame through the opening. Alex hesitated just a moment to look around, then followed him into the darkness.

* * *

They found themselves in almost complete darkness. Alex collapsed to the ground next to Bobby, trying desperately to steady her breathing. Bobby had his face pressed hard into his bare arms and though he was not making a sound, she could feel him trembling violently. The pain from the spiked ball had to be horrendous, and God only knew what damage it might have done, or might be doing.

She slipped her arms around his waist in silent comfort, as much for her sake as for his. Slowly, her breathing settled and his trembling eased. Minutes passed, and they lay side by side, waiting in complete silence, neither daring to make a sound.

Alex was beginning to wonder whether Mathers had gone in a different direction entirely when she heard the distinct, frightening sound of footsteps mere metres away, almost right outside the entrance to the tiny grotto where they were hiding.

She and Bobby froze, both of them hardly daring to breathe. Minutes dragged by while they listened to the sound of Mathers walking around nearby. At one point, it seemed to Alex that Mathers stopped right by the entrance to the cave, and her heart rate soared as she waited for the seemingly inevitable discovery.

It never came. Finally, after an almost unbearable age, Mathers moved on, his footsteps fading until he could no longer be heard.

Still Alex waited, letting the minutes slip by. She wanted to be certain that Mathers was definitely gone before she made any attempt to move.

Finally, when she could stand the wait no longer, she moved carefully around Bobby's inert form and made her way back to the entrance to the cave. As she went, she felt a hand catch her own, and looked back to see Bobby watching her with pain-filled eyes.

"I'm just going to make sure he's gone," she whispered. "It's okay, Bobby. I'll be okay."

He let go with open reluctance, and the fear in his eyes was all too obvious. Alex drew in a steadying breath, and crawled back out into the sunlight.

There turned out to be no cause to fear. Mathers really had moved on, leaving them with some precious time for recuperation. Grateful for the respite, however brief it might turn out to be, Alex slipped back into the dark cave to rejoin Bobby.

"He's gone," she said wearily, but still keeping her voice down regardless. Her gaze went to his new wound, and she felt her stomach roll at the sight. The ball itself was pressing hard into the flesh of his shoulder, and the different angles at which the spikes had driven into the skin was going to make the device a nightmare to remove.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice sounding more strained than she had ever heard. She hesitated, staring at the spiked ball for a long moment before answering him.

"It's some sort of metal ball… with spikes. It's buried in pretty good."

"Can… Can you get it out?"

"I don't know," she answered with reluctant honesty. "I guess the question is, do you want me to try?"

"Yes."

He whispered so softly, that she almost missed it entirely. She looked back to the wound grimly. Yes, it had to come out, but it was going to be agony for him.

"Bobby, the spikes have all gone in at different angles. It's going to hurt… a lot."

He knew without her saying so that that was likely to be a massive understatement.

"Can you find something for me to bite down on?" he asked, his voice taking on a telltale tremble again. "A piece of wood… maybe a stick?"

She nodded.

"I'll find something. Hang on, okay?"

Once more, she slipped outside, leaving him alone.

* * *

Bobby waited for her return in growing trepidation. He knew it had to be done. If the pain he was in right now was anything to go by, he suspected that the pain he was in for would be nothing like anything he had ever experienced before in his life. There were two things, though, that he was desperate not to have happen. The first was that he didn't want to scream again, and potentially alert Mathers to their position. The second was that he didn't want to pass out.

He knew, and he suspected Alex knew it too, that they would not be able to stay within the safety of this cave for long. Sooner or later… hopefully much later… Mathers would realise he'd been duped, and would backtrack to look for them.

The best action for them now, he believed, would be to head in a completely different direction to where they had been going. As near as he'd been able to tell, they'd been heading steadily west. It was time, he decided, to go either north or south.

Movement alerted him to Alex's return. She sat down beside him, and gently helped him to take a piece of wood in his mouth.

"Bite down," she murmured. "Okay… Now, Bobby, this is really going to hurt, so brace yourself."

He already was, she realised a moment later. As she watched, he consciously relaxed his upper body and, in particular, his shoulders. His hands, though, were clenched into tight fists, and his jaw was locked like a vice on that piece of wood.

She returned her attention to the metal ball. Bracing herself mentally and emotionally, she took careful hold of the protruding spikes and pulled.

Two things happened. Bobby went rigid and, though he himself never made a sound beyond a strained grunt, Alex heard the dull crunch as he bit clean through the wood. At the same time, she realised with dismay that the spikes were not merely buried in his skin, but had actually gone deep enough to become stuck in the bone.

"Bobby…" she whispered, frightened and horrified.

"Get it out," he begged her. "Just get it out…"

Steeling herself, she took hold again and pulled with all her strength. After excruciating seconds, the ball came loose and finally slid out of his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, no longer able to hold back the tears. "God, I'm sorry…"

"Thankyou," he whispered, his voice cracking and his body shaking slightly with suppressed sobs.

Alex looked at the wound, which was bleeding freely now, and wondered what to do about it. Finally, wordlessly, she removed the makeshift bandage that Bobby had wrapped around her shoulder earlier, and retied it to cover his wound.

"What are you doing?" he asked hoarsely, trying to pull away from her.

"Don't fight me," she scolded him. "You need this more than I do."

It was testament to how much pain he was really in, she thought sadly, that he gave in without further protest. She finished tying the material off, and then lay down beside him. It was then that she saw his right arm. After biting through the piece of wood, it seemed he had bitten into the next available thing. There was a vicious bite wound in his arm, just above the wrist. She hadn't seen anything like it since Jorge Galvez had bitten him when Bobby apprehended him at the Veterans' Day Parade. He'd needed a tetanus shot and stitches then, and that bite wound hadn't been as deep as this one. He'd damn near taken a chunk of skin out of his own arm.

She closed her hand gently over the wound, gazing at his tear-streaked face in silent sympathy. She had never seen him cry before, and it was strangely comforting to know that he was capable of it.

"We should get going again," he whispered, though he seemed to have no inclination to actually move. She hugged him gently, careful to avoid touching the wound in his back.

"We can take a few minutes to rest."

He gave in without argument, and a moment later his eyes closed and he slipped into a light sleep. Alex shut her own eyes, but didn't allow herself the luxury of sleep. She would give him fifteen minutes or so before waking him up. God knew he needed some time to recover from the shock and, in all truth, so did she.

She wondered as she lay there just what might be happening back home, within the sanctuary of the Major Case squad room. Would Deakins have mobilised everyone in the wake of their disappearance? Or would he have kept it under wraps, and initiated a more subtle investigation? She hoped it was the former. In light of their bleak situation, it gave her some small comfort to think that perhaps the NYPD had gone into high alert.

She knew better, though, than to hope that they would be found. If they were to survive this nightmare, it would be exclusively up to them.

Of course, the note had said they would be released if they survived to midday of the third day, but she put no faith in that promise. Mathers had no intention of letting them live, even if they managed to survive the given time frame. The question was, were they going to be able to survive by running, or would the moment come when they had no choice left but to turn and fight? She hoped and prayed that if and when that moment came, they would both still be capable of resisting. She had no intention of going down without a fight anymore than Bobby did, but if they each sustained anymore injuries like the one Bobby had just suffered, she doubted they would have the strength to fight when the time came.

Sitting up, taking care not to disturb Bobby, she picked up the discarded metal ball and looked at it carefully in the dim light of the cave. It was a vicious instrument of torture, and she finally understood what had caused some of the horrendous wounds that peppered the bodies of the previous five victims.

She turned the ball over carefully in her hands, only to freeze when she realised two of the spikes were gone, broken off at their bases. She looked back to Bobby, her heart in her throat. There was only one explanation, and that was that the two broken spikes were still embedded in his back.

Alex shut her eyes against the fresh threat of tears, and she wondered despairingly whether they were fated to die in the middle of nowhere at the hands of the kind of psychopathic killer that they had spent the last five years of their lives working together to catch.

She came back to reality as Bobby stirred and started to push himself up, only to cringe at the pain that flared through his wounded shoulder.

"Easy, Bobby," she murmured, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "Just take it slow."

He pushed himself up slowly, shuddering at the pain.

"I won't even ask how you're feeling," she said, smiling weakly at him. He looked across at her, and a hint of a smile touched his lips.

"Thanks."

"Ready to move on?"

He didn't answer that, his attention going instead back to his shoulder. She watched as the muscles in his shoulder tensed just fractionally, only to be followed by a choked sob of pain from him.

"There's something still in there…"

"Two of the spikes," she confirmed softly. "There's nothing I can do about them."

He looked at her, then, and in the darkness she saw something in his eyes beyond the pain his was in. She saw guilt…

"I'm sorry, Alex."

She stared at him, incredulous.

"For what?"

"For all of this…"

If he hadn't already been hurt, she might have just hit him.

"Don't you dare tell me you think this is your fault, because you know damned well that it isn't."

He shook his head.

"I know that. I know it isn't either of our faults… but I still feel responsible for keeping you safe."

She sighed, feeling too tired and too scared to take offence. Instead, she leaned into him, taking what comfort she could in having his strong arms around her.

"No more than I feel responsible for you," she said softly. "It's a mutual thing, Bobby. Don't you ever forget it."

"We need to get moving again," he whispered, this time with more determination in his voice. "The sooner we do, the more of a head start we'll have on him."

She bit back the urge to make a crack about the last head start they'd had, and instead led the way back out into the daylight.

"Which way?" she asked as she helped him up.

"South," he decided. Alex looked doubtful.

"We could go east, Bobby. Head back the way we came… He must have gotten us up here in a car, or some sort of vehicle. We were probably in spitting distance of a road where he dumped us, and we let him sucker us into going in the opposite direction."

He couldn't fault her logic, but instinct warned him against backtracking. Though he couldn't explain why, he knew deep down that going east was the wrong thing to do.

"You don't agree," Alex said, easily guessing his train of thought from the look on his face. He looked genuinely upset at that, she thought wryly.

"I don't want to fight about it," he ventured. She slipped her hand into his, wanting to reassure him.

"We're not going to fight about anything. I trust you, Bobby. If you really believe we should go south, then I'll go along with that."

He closed his large hand gently around her smaller one. She trusted him… and his judgment… implicitly. It was about time he showed her the same trust.

"We'll head east," he decided. "You're right. He couldn't have gotten us up here without a vehicle. If we can find a road, we might be able to find help."

She regarded him seriously.

"Are you sure?"

There was that pained look again, the one that had nothing to do with the wounds he'd suffered.

"Alex… I'm not sure about anything. Whatever we do, our chances aren't that great."

She felt her hopes slide, hearing those despairing words from his own mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. She stepped away from him, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

"So what do we do, then? Just sit down here and wait for Mathers to come back for us?"

She was angry at him now, and he couldn't blame her. He was angry at himself. Perhaps it was the pain he was in… Or perhaps their bleak situation in general, but all of a sudden he could no longer find the strength to be positive.

He looked away from Alex, feeling sick to his stomach with grief, guilt and despair.

Alex watched him in silence, feeling the anger fade as quickly as it had come on. She had spent the last five years of their partnership repeatedly telling herself that he was a fallible human being, just like the rest of them. Now, he was openly displaying that, and she was angry at him for it.

Remorseful, she walked back to him, and slipped her arms around his waistin a warm hug.

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I shouldn't be getting mad at you. Just tell me one thing, and be honest. Are you ready to give up?"

He stared at her, his brown eyes filled with pain, fear, despair… and something else.

"No," he said softly, and she was gratified to hear a fresh spark of determination and anger in his voice. "I'm not."

"So which way do we go?"

He took her hand once more.

"East."


	8. On The Run

Author's note: _This story is likely to gloss over the 'police work' involved in tracking the killer and finding Alex and Bobby, mainly because I function better working on a character driven story rather than one that has intricate 'case-solving details'. I make no apologies for this. It's just how I work. I will try to focus a little more heavily on the rest of the characters a little further along._

* * *

_Adirondack Mountains_

They travelled in silence, grasping each other's hands when they could, and taking what courage and reassurance that they could from the belief that they had, at least for the moment, duped their pursuer. Alex knew they would not make it as far as they both hoped, though. Several times Bobby stumbled when there was no obvious cause for it, and Alex noted with growing fear the whiteness of his face as opposed to the ugly bruising on the side of his head. She guessed he was suffering a severe concussion at the very least, and that combined with the wound from that damned spiked ball…

They had been walking for nearly two hours, as near as Alex could figure, when Bobby stumbled and finally fell. She went back to him, suspecting with a sinking heart that he had gone as far as he could.

"I just need a minute," he mumbled, flinching away from her when she tried to get a closer look at his head wound.

"Don't pull away from me," she ordered him. "And you need more than just a minute. This is getting worse."

He looked at her, his normally bright eyes now dull with the pain of his injuries.

"We can't stay here. Even if Mathers hasn't worked out what happened yet, it's starting to get late. Another hour or so, and it'll get dark."

She looked around, feeling helpless and hating it. He was right, and she knew it. Darkness came early in the mountains… and she was certain they were in a mountain range, she just didn't know which one. Darkness came early, and with it would come freezing temperatures that they had little hope of surviving.

She crouched next to him, and gently guided him to look at her.

"Can you keep going for just a little longer? There must be somewhere around here where we can take shelter."

"Yeah," he mumbled and, to her quiet admiration, he got stubbornly to his feet. She favoured him with a reassuring smile.

"C'mon," she murmured, trying to sound more confident than she really felt. "Not much further. Then we can both rest properly."

She led the way on through the woods, going at a deliberately slower pace so that he could keep up.

They walked on for almost twenty minutes when Bobby suddenly stopped. She looked back at him, thinking that the pain was slowing him down again.

"Bobby? What is it?"

He pointed through the trees.

"Through there. I thought I saw something. I thought I saw a house."

"A house?" she echoed doubtfully, but still turned and pushed her way through the trees.

"I'll be damned," she said softly as they came into a clearing to discover a small cabin. They stood watching for a long minute, observing the structure before Bobby suddenly moved, walking to the door and pushing it wide open.

"Bobby," Alex hissed. He looked back at her.

"It's empty. No one's here."

She walked over. Sure enough, the cabin appeared to be deserted.

They walked in slowly, taking in their surroundings with trained caution.

The cabin was modestly furnished. There was a bed in the far corner, a table and chairs, a waist high cupboard with a gas cooker on the top and a threadbare rug on the floor.

"No food in the cupboard," Alex said glumly, looking purely out of hope. "Go figure."

"Alex."

She looked around, her attention drawn by the sudden tension in his voice. He was crouching by the bed, and had pulled an old, battered suitcase out and opened it up.

"What…" Alex started to say, and then the words caught in her throat. "Oh god…"

She knelt down on the other side of the case, and reached for the contents with trembling hands. Inside, there were several articles of clothing. Two jackets, an undershirt, two pairs of shoes and two pairs of socks. Each and every item had been sliced to shreds.

"This place…" Alex whispered, panic audible in her voice. Bobby nodded, looking at her with genuine fear in his eyes.

"This is Mathers' cabin." He looked to a closed door at the end of the bed. "I bet I can guess what's behind that door."

Alex stood up slowly. Instinct screamed at her not to do what she was about to, but she had to see. She pushed the door open, and found herself standing on the threshold of a dark, empty room that did not have so much as a carpet to furnish it. The only light came through a single, dirty window.

Alex walked in, her stomach twisting into sick, painful knots. After a moment of her eyes adjusting to the dim light, she saw something that confirmed their suspicions. There was the stain of blood on the floor in the middle of the room, and four or five lengths of rope hung on a hook on the wall.

She shut her eyes quickly, desperately willing herself not to throw up.

"This is where he kept us," she said, backing quickly out of the room and pulling the door closed. "This very cabin… Bobby, we can't stay here. He'll come back here for sure."

Bobby looked thoughtful.

"I don't think he will, Alex. Look at this place. It's practically empty. Anything Mathers' needs to survive the night he's already got with him. He's got no reason to come back here."

"Yes he does," she retorted. "Us."

Bobby shoved the suitcase back under the bed, and got up.

"I think we should stay here. At least it's shelter."

She sighed softly, realising she had neither the will nor the inclination to argue with him.

"Okay," she conceded. "But if he does come back, you are going to get one big, fat 'I told you so'. You understand me?"

He smiled faintly and gave her a quick, fierce hug.

"Okay."

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_Major Case Squad,  
__One Police Plaza_

Ryan Wolfe paused at the end of the hallway that led into the Major Case Squad offices, looking around uncertainly. He hated being the new guy, especially when he was the new guy in totally foreign territory. One of the CSIs from the New York team had handed him some information on the man who they believed was their serial killer, and told him to get it upstairs to Captain Deakins and his detectives at Major Case. Never mind that he had never seen this Captain Deakins, and didn't even know where to find the Major Case Squad. Only after asking half a dozen people and having to show his ID to every one of them had he finally learnt that the squad was based on the eleventh floor of the building.

Now he was there, he realised he didn't have the faintest idea who to approach first.

"Got a problem, kid?"

Wolfe bristled at being called 'kid'. He was twenty-seven years old, for god's sake… He turned to the offending person, and found himself looking up at an older man sporting a detective's badge. His ID read 'Logan', and Wolfe's memory told him that one of the detectives on the case was called Logan.

He held up the envelope.

"Got some info here for Captain Deakins."

Recognition lit up in the detective's eyes.

"You're with the Miami crew, aren't you?"

Wolfe nodded.

"Yeah. Ryan Wolfe."

"Mike Logan. Deakin's office is right over there. Just go and knock. We're glad you guys are here. We need all the help we can get."

Wolfe watched in surprise as Logan sauntered off, then smiled, shook his head and headed for Deakins' office.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Captain James Deakins stirred the coffee in front of him, oblivious to the fact that it had long gone cold. He had long since given up trying to hide the fact that he was worried sick about Goren and Eames. Despite the convergence of police on One Police Plaza, and the massive effort going into the case, Deakins could not dampen the burgeoning thought that he was not going to see Goren and Eames again. At least, not alive.

Unwittingly, his stressed mind conjured an image of himself walking into the morgue and being confronted by the lifeless bodies of his two best detectives, cruelly mutilated by both the abuse meted out by their killer and the subsequent autopsies.

He shook the thought almost violently from his mind. He desperately wanted to keep a positive attitude about the situation, but it was steadily getting harder to do that.

"Have you had any sleep at all?"

Deakins looked up to find Ron Carver standing there, looking at him in concern.

"What do you think?" he asked, then immediately regretted his snappish tone. "I'm sorry, Ron, I just…"

"Don't apologise, Jim," Carver told him quietly as he sat down. "I understand. I'm afraid for them, too. But making yourself physically sick is not going to help them."

Deakins pressed his face into his hands.

"I never would have imagined that anything like this could have happened, Ron. Goren and Eames go up against the worst of them every day… Both of them have been shot in the line of duty…"

Carver raised an eyebrow slightly, questioningly. Deakins smiled a little.

"I mean from before they both came to Major Case. I just never believed something like this might happen to them. They usually have everything so tightly under control…"

"That's a grave misconception, Jim, and you know it. As brilliant a detective as Goren is, he is not omniscient. Neither is Detective Eames. You've heard of Murphy's Law, haven't you?"

Deakins groaned. "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Well, it sure did this time."

"Tell me, have you learnt anything more from the CSI team from Miami?"

"Some," Deakins admitted. "Whether it will help us find them, I don't know. It's been over forty-eight hours now since they disappeared, Ron. If our killer is they same man that got away in Miami, then we have to assume he's already taken them to wherever he took his last five victims. Goren and Eames are probably on the run right now."

"On the run…?" Carver echoed, feeling confused and disturbed. Deakins nodded grimly.

"One of the things we found out from the Miami crew. Apparently once this son of a bitch has a victim, he holds them for a couple of days before releasing them, generally in some remote wilderness area. With most of the Miami victims, he took them to the nearest national park. He'd set them loose, give them a couple of hours to run, and then he'd go after them and hunt them down."

"Dear God in Heaven," Carver whispered, horrified.

"As I said," Deakins went on, "it's been over forty-eight hours now, and we don't have a clue as to where to start looking."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Carver said. "Although, it may be that Goren and Eames have an advantage that the other victims didn't. They're together. The other victims were alone."

"Assuming the killer has kept them together," Deakins retorted. "Why would he?"

"Why wouldn't he?" Carver countered. "You say he turns his victims loose and then hunts them down. That would suggest he sets himself challenges. This man was bold enough to abduct two high ranking police detectives, Jim. I imagine he sees the detectives as a greater challenge than his past victims. To take those very officers who have been hunting _him_, and then turn the tables on them…"

"Turn the hunters into the hunted," Deakins muttered. "It makes sense. Leaving Goren and Eames together… The bastard would probably see it as the ultimate challenge." He shot Carver a wry look. "Sounds like some of Goren's psychology is rubbing off on you."

Carver smiled faintly. "It had to happen sooner or later. I'm sorry our little insights won't take us any closer to finding them, though."

There was a knock on his door at that moment, and both men looked up to see a young man standing there that neither of them recognised. Deakins stood up, unable to keep the frown completely off his face.

"What is it?"

If the young man was put out by Deakins' abrupt tone, it didn't show. Instead, he held an large yellow envelope out to the captain.

"Captain Deakins? I'm Ryan Wolfe. My boss, Lieutenant Caine, asked me to bring this straight up to you."

Realisation dawned on Deakins' face.

"You're with the Miami team."

"Yes, sir."

"What's this?" Deakins asked as he opened the envelope. "New information?"

Wolfe couldn't help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in the older man's voice. It didn't surprise him terribly. He'd seen the way the New York contingent were rapidly losing hope that they would find their detectives alive.

"We ran a check on the name we had for The Hunter," Wolfe explained.

"You mean Lucas Graham?" Carver asked, and Wolfe nodded.

"Yes. One of our group, Eric Delko, thought it might be worth running the name through your databases to see if anything came up. There was nothing in Aphis, but something else came up. There's a property registered to a Lucas Graham, north-west of Saratoga, and just near the base of Gore Mountain. That's in the Adirondack Mountains, in Adirondack Park."

"That's fairly remote territory," Ron Carver said, looking intently at Deakins.

"And it sounds just like our boy's MO," Deakins said. He stepped past Wolfe, and hollered across the floor.

"Logan, Bishop! Over here now!"

The two detectives all but ran over to Deakins' office. Deakins handed Bishop the envelope.

"Both of you, get everyone together. Find Ash and Oliver, and get ready to move. We may have just caught our first break."

"Where?" Logan asked, peering over Bishop's shoulder to look at the documents.

"The Adirondack Mountains," Bishop read. She looked up, her brow creased with deep worry. "Sir, I don't want to be negative, but if that's where they are, we could search for a month, and not find them."

"We at least have a starting point," Deakins said. He looked to Carver. "Any chance of getting a warrant for the property?"

Carver looked bemused, to say the least.

"Well, that depends."

"On what?" Deakins demanded to know, a dangerous look settling on his face. Carver didn't flinch, though Wolfe did.

"On whether you're taking long term considerations into account, such as whether you want to build a prosecutable case. Yes, I could probably get you a search warrant, but anything you find will more than likely be deemed inadmissible in court. I don't like to say it, given the situation, but you hardly have probable cause here."

Deakins advanced slowly on Carver, and the ADA retreated, looking as though he was suddenly aware of the danger of his position.

"I told you before, Ron," Deakins said tensely. "Right now, I don't give a damn about going by the book. Two of my people are in trouble, and we are running out of time to find them! So don't lecture me on probable cause, because I don't have the goddamned time for it!"

Carver held up his hands defensively.

"Okay, Jim. Calm down. I'll get you your warrant. Excuse me…"

He slipped past Logan, Bishop and Wolfe, firing them a dark look as he went, silently warning them not to say a word. They watched him go, and then Logan spoke quietly.

"We'll have everyone ready to move in thirty minutes, Captain."

He took off at a run, with Bishop on his heels. Deakins turned then to Wolfe.

"Wolfe, get downstairs to CSU, and call Adirondacks Search and Rescue. Warn them that we're coming."

Wolfe all but bolted from the office. Deakins wasted no time, but grabbed his jacket and ran from his office.


	9. Darkness, Be My Friend

_Adirondack Mountains_

At Alex's stubborn insistence, Bobby let her take the first watch while he slept fitfully on the bed. She watched him from where she sat by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around her body in a vain effort to keep warm. It wasn't yet dark, but it would be soon enough, and she dreaded the onset of darkness for two reasons.

Firstly, the cold was going to prove a harsh test for the both of them. The bed offered no help there. It was a mattress on a spring base and a thin pillow, and nothing more. There was not even so much as a flat sheet to cover it. The only thing in the entire cabin that might have simulated for a blanket was the rug on the floor, and it was likely to provide as much warmth as their shredded clothes in the suitcase.

Secondly, they had no way of knowing whether Mathers would quit for the night, or whether he would continue hunting for them. If he did, and if he succeeded in tracking them back this cabin…

Simply put, she doubted that either she or Bobby would see him coming in the black of the oncoming night.

At the moment, Bobby lay on his left side, facing away from her. Blood from his wound had soaked through the makeshift bandage and covered most of the back of what remained of his shirt. She wished she had some water, not to drink but rather to try and clean the wound. The way things stood at the moment, he was at huge risk of infection. She sighed softly. And pneumonia. And dehydration. And hypothermia. Just as the same as herself.

She chided herself for including herself in that thought. The night promised to be a hard one, but she thought she would probably get through okay. She had serious doubts about her partner.

As though he'd heard her thoughts, Bobby stirred and woke up. He started to sit up, only to go rigid from a flare of pain through his back and shoulder, as he inadvertently aggravated his wound.

Abandoning her position by the window, Alex went to his side.

"Easy," she murmured, taking his arm and gently helping him to turn around and sit beside her on the narrow bed. He looked at her tiredly, with gratitude in his eyes.

"Thanks."

She didn't answer, concerned instead with the realisation that his skin was almost like ice to touch.

"Bobby, you're freezing!"

His hand closed gently over her.

"So are you. It's not even dark yet, and it's only going to get worse."

She was too distressed to be angry at his apparent negativity.

"We have to find some way to get warm, or we aren't going to survive the night. If only this cabin had a fireplace…"

"Even if it did, we couldn't risk it," he said quietly. "That really would bring Mathers back here."

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him.

"So what do we do?"

"The rug," Bobby murmured. Wincing in pain from the movement, he dragged the rug off the floor. Alex looked at it sceptically.

"That thing wouldn't keep a polar bear in summer warm."

"Not on its own," he agreed. "But if we…"

He trailed off, looking at her uncertainly. She suspected she knew what had been about to come out of his mouth, but she felt a sudden, irrational desire to make him say it out loud.

"If we what?" she pressed, trying to hide the smirk that was fighting to show itself. Bless him, he was actually embarrassed.

"If we… you know… close together… um…"

"Bobby," she interrupted gently, her voice tinged with amusement, "stop. You're going to give yourself a stroke."

He fell silent, the red flush of his cheeks a stark contrast against the white of his face. She wondered fleetingly just how much blood he had lost before squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"We might be able to stay warm if we cuddle together under the rug. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Yeah," he confessed. She did smile, then.

"It's a good idea. No reason to be embarrassed about it. We'd better just make sure at least one of us stays awake, in case Mathers does actually come back."

"Um… How do you want to do this?" Bobby asked. She smiled again. Ever the gentleman. He knew as well as she did that there was only one way to go about it, and that was to lie down together on the narrow bed.

It was going to be a tight fit. After all, he barely fit on it himself, let alone both of them together, but spending the night sitting up was not an option for either of them. Nor was lying on the hard, cold floor.

"Let me lie against the wall," she murmured. "You don't need your back to be rubbing against it."

He conceded silently, allowing her to slip around him and lie down, laying her head carefully on the edge of the pillow. He followed suit, settling down beside her and pulling the rug up to cover them both.

She felt his arms slip tentatively around her and she did the same, marvelling silently at how neatly they seemed to fit together. His hold tightened on her just a little, pulling her in close to him, and she gladly cuddled in against his broad chest.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't unlike cuddling a giant teddy bear. Almost before she realised she was doing it, she giggled.

"What's so funny?" Bobby asked, confused.

"Sorry," she murmured, hiding her grin by burying her face in his chest. "Just… memories."

"I hate to think what memories _this_ might have resurrected."

She knew he meant their situation in general, and not having to cuddle up together to survive frigid temperatures, but that didn't stop a fresh burst of giggles.

Bobby couldn't resist the smile that fought its way to the surface. He had often marvelled at the way his feisty partner always managed to put a smile on his face when things seemed at their worst, and it seemed now was no exception. On impulse, and before he could think twice about it, he kissed her gently on the top of her head.

"What was that for?" Alex asked, startled out of her giggling fit by the unexpected gesture. Bobby rested his cheek gently against her head.

"Just a thankyou… for everything."

She shut her eyes. She liked the feel of his cheek against the top of her head. It was comforting. It was nice.

"For everything? That's pretty broad."

He smiled faintly.

"Go to sleep, Alex. I'll listen for any sign of Mathers."

She decided not to argue. All of a sudden, she felt an exhaustion weighing down on her that she no longer had the strength to fight. Shutting her eyes, secure in her partner's embrace, Alex Eames fell asleep.

* * *

Bobby lay awake, listening contentedly to the rhythmic sound of his partner's steady breathing, and taking solace in the gentle sensation of her body pressed against his. Already he could feel the difference it was making to the both of them, minor warmth slowly starting to creep back into their cold bodies.

A faint sigh escaped him as, for the first time since this whole damned business had started, he felt the ever-turning wheels of his tired mind finally start to slow. This was the first chance he'd had to stop and recuperate, both physically and mentally. He didn't just mean from the moment of their abduction, either. They had been hunting down this killer for over a month, on top of dealing with other minor cases.

For over a month, it seemed his brain had been locked into overdrive while they strove to solve this one nightmare case.

He almost laughed. Nightmare didn't even begin to describe this. A nightmare was something that, while potentially terrifying, you eventually awoke from. There was no waking from this terror.

He glanced down at the slim figure of his partner, sleeping relatively peacefully in his arms. Here was the one saving grace in this whole lousy situation. He had no idea how he would have coped had he been alone. One thing he was sure of was that Mathers probably would have caught him in very quick time.

Having Alex with him gave him strength and courage, and that wasn't true exclusively for this situation. For as long as he could remember, throughout the course of their partnership, Alex had been the major stabilising force in his existence. Whenever he had run the very real risk of going off the rails, she had been there to put him gently back on track.

Like with the Nicole Wallace case. His mind went back nearly two years, recalling her vicious manipulation that had resulted in the death of an innocent man. He had been left shattered both mentally and emotionally by that, and it seemed to him that there had been no way back. But Alex had been right there, supportive as always. She'd steered him away from the edge of the black hole that Nicole had left him teetering on the brink of, and shown him that it was okay to trust himself again.

He wondered if she knew just how completely he trusted her. He wondered if she knew she could only have done that for him because he did trust her implicitly.

He was very much aware of the broad nature of the effect that Alex had on him, and he seriously doubted that she knew just how much he really appreciated it.

Bobby shuddered as pain flared anew through his skull. It was just one more constant of this nightmare experience. Between the pain in his skull and the pain in his back, he honestly couldn't see how he was possibly going to survive three days of this. Even now, the only thing that made him want to keep fighting was his partner.

It surprised him a little to realise just how desperate he was not to disappoint her, and giving up would definitely do that.

Then, inevitably, his wayward and disjointed thoughts turned towards his mother. He couldn't help but wonder whether she would even notice his absence. It seemed that more often than not when he visited her lately, she would be lost in yet another delusion, and not even recognise him. He didn't know what was worse, not being recognised by his own mother, or being recognised and suffering a volley of abuse all the same.

His last three visits to her had been like that, and it hurt far worse than he was willing to admit to anyone when she turned on him in one of her hysterical rages. He never spoke to anyone of that hurt, though, not even the staff at Carmel Ridge who witnessed it with their own eyes. One of the psychiatrists there had tried to encourage him to talk about it, and he had politely but firmly refused. It wasn't that he didn't need to talk about it. He just wasn't ready to spill his guts to a professional head shrink.

Alex seemed to know, though. He saw it in her eyes whenever he saw her the day after one of his visits. It was in her manner towards him, in her voice… even in her smile. She radiated sympathy, understanding and support without being condescending in any way, and without expecting him to say a word about any of it to her.

He appreciated that far more than he would ever be able capable of expressing.

Unconsciously, his hold on Alex tightened just a little more. Above all else, right now he wanted to keep her from being hurt as he had been. He had no interest in playing hero. It was simply that the idea of her being in as much pain as he was right then was abominable to him.

He wanted to protect her, and he was not trying to be macho, or do the 'alpha male' thing. He just wanted to keep her safe.

And yet, so far Alex had been the one to take charge. Even when it seemed he was making the decisions, he still deferred to her.

When he'd been wounded earlier, Alex had found the shelter to keep them both hidden and safe from their psychotic pursuer. Alex had pulled that… _thing_ out of his shoulder, when all he had been able to do was lie trembling and sobbing in the dark, a helpless wreck.

Not that she blamed him for that, of course. Despite everything, he couldn't even find it in him to blame himself. The pain had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced before in his life. The truth was, it had been all he could do not to simply give in to the pain and lose consciousness. He'd wanted to desperately. That moment when Alex had made her first attempt to pull the metal ball out of his shoulder, he didn't have words in his substantial vocabulary to describe the sheer agony he'd suffered. Even now, he didn't understand how he'd managed to keep from screaming.

One thing he hadn't dared to tell her about, though, was his suspicion that the damned ball was doing damage even now, well after it had been removed and discarded.

For starters, there was a distinct tingling sensation up and down his right arm, suggesting possible nerve damage. He'd had the pins and needles since not long after they'd left the sanctuary of the little cave, and it showed no sign of abating.

Also, the pain from the wound itself was steadily getting worse. As much as he hated to think it, and he had no intention of worrying Alex with his fears, he was beginning to believe that he had been poisoned.

He recalled the tox screens done on each of the previous five victims. There had been undetermined poisons present in their bodies, courtesy of puncture wounds that, at the time, had been caused by an unknown weapon. Though not enough to cause death, CSU had determined the poison had been enough to slow the victims down, and reduce their awareness significantly.

Bobby wondered dimly how long it would be before the poison leaking from the spikes still in his shoulder began to noticeably affect him. He suspected it would only be a matter of time.

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on his partner's sleeping form rather than the morbid thoughts that assailed him. He drew in a steadying breath, willing himself to immerse his heart, mind and soul in her presence and forget all other traumas that threatened to drag them both down.

He began to relax, finally, taking relief in the warmth that was finally being generated by the closeness of their bodies. Gradually, his breathing slowed and deepened and, comforted by the warm body in his arms, he slipped into a light sleep.

* * *

Bobby awoke abruptly. One moment he had been in a light, thankfully dreamless slumber. The next, he lay awake and staring into the darkness that engulfed the cabin room. He didn't know what had brought him so abruptly out of sleep. As near as he could tell, there had been no noise, or any other disturbance. Alex still slept peacefully, apparently undisturbed.

Feeling bothered and not knowing why, he gently disengaged himself from Alex, and got up.

Though there was still a steady aching, he was relieved beyond measure to discover the pain in his skull had subsided considerably. It seemed he had only been concussed after all, and did not have a fractured skull like they had both feared.

He grimaced and winced as the pain in his shoulder flared up anew. Too bad he wasn't as fortunate where _that_ was concerned.

He ventured slowly over to the window and peered out, though he still took care to stay hidden in the shadows. It was almost pitch black outside, with no moonlight at all to illuminate anything. He could barely see twenty metres ahead, let alone to the bordering rim of trees. Had Mathers chosen that moment to return, he could easily have taken them both completely by surprise.

Bobby looked up to the sky, and again found he could see very little. Clouds blanketed the sky, creating a shield that it seemed the moon had no hope of breaking through.

He looked away from the window, back to Alex. Without him next to her, she was starting to shiver again. It was a reminder to Bobby just how bitterly cold it was.

He was about to return to the bed when a flicker of light from outside drew his attention. Looking back out the window, his heart rate almost doubled and he desperately prayed that the growing light did not mean what he suspected it did. His fears were confirmed a moment later as a dark figure emerged through the trees, a heavy duty torch lighting the way. Though Bobby could not see the face of the person approaching the cabin, he knew beyond any doubt that it was Erik Mathers.

Heart in his throat, Bobby slipped away from the window and over to the bed. He stared at Alex for a long moment, contemplating how to wake her up, firstly without making a sound and secondly without scaring the hell out of her. It turned out to be unnecessary. In the seconds that he was thinking it over, Alex's eyes flickered open and her gaze quickly focused on him.

"Bobby, what…?"

He gently pressed one fingertip to her lips, warning her to stay silent. Her eyes widened slightly with realisation, and he nodded in grim confirmation. Then, he pointed silently to the door of the room that had been their prison for two days.

Alex was incredulous at first, though she dared not voice any argument. Then, she remembered the window. She didn't think it was big enough for Bobby to squeeze through, but it was big enough for her. She could get outside, create some sort of distraction and draw Mathers away from the cabin, hopefully long enough for Bobby to escape as well.

She slid out of the bed, and opened the door to the other room. Bobby paused just long enough to lay the rug back on the floor, as near to where it had originally been as he could get it. Then, he followed her into the room and pulled the door shut behind them.

Wasting no time, Alex strode over to the window. She was gratified to discover that it did, indeed, open up – a minor detail she'd failed to notice earlier. Grateful because, after all, even if Mathers was not yet aware of their presence in the cabin, the sound of breaking glass would be a dead giveaway.

She grimaced as she pushed the window up as far as it would go. Pun definitely _not_ intended.

She was about to boost herself through the window when a hand alighted on her arm, stopping her. She looked back to find Bobby staring at her with a look of shock and dismay on his pale face. It seemed he had just realised her intentions, and was not the slightest bit happy about it.

Patting his arm reassuringly and then firmly disengaging herself from his grip, Alex climbed through the window and quickly vanished into the darkness beyond. Feeling sick to his stomach, Bobby pulled the window nearly all the way shut and sank down into a low crouch on the floor to wait. A moment later, he heard the distinct creak of floorboards, warning him that Mathers was inside the cabin.

He wondered what Alex could possibly do to draw Mathers' attention, without putting herself in anymore danger than necessary. Minutes dragged by, and he waited with a sick feeling for the door to open, and Mathers to stumble across him…

Bobby's heart skipped a beat as an idea occurred to him. Sure, it would alert Mathers to their presence, but it might at least give them a chance, and right now Bobby could not see any other way out. That, and he was loathed for Alex to put herself in harm's way just because he was too damned big to fit through a window.

Staying low, Bobby scuttled across the floor, and positioned himself by the door. He was about to give a loud cough when the sound of breaking glass shattered the silence. Bobby listened, hardly daring to breathe, as Mathers ran outside.

Suddenly realising the danger of becoming separated from Alex if she ran into the woods to escape Mathers, Bobby stood up and pulled the door open, peering out anxiously. He could see Mathers standing just outside the door, on the porch, crossbow at the ready. All thoughts of his own safety forgotten, Bobby charged Mathers, colliding the full force of his body with their pursuer and sending them both crashing to the ground.

The crossbow fired its deadly cargo and, even as Bobby was grappling desperately with Mathers, the cry of pain that reached them from just beyond the trees was unmistakable.

Driven by panic and anger, Bobby slammed the heel of his palm into the side of Mathers' head, momentarily stunning him. Pulling himself to his feet, Bobby ran in the direction the cry of pain had come from, frantic to reach Alex before Mathers regained his senses and came after them.

He almost tripped over her, nearly missing her entirely in the darkness.

"Alex…" he whispered, dropping into a crouch beside her. She looked up at him, her brown eyes filled with pain and fear. He saw then with a sinking heart what had brought her down. Mathers' arrow had gone through her right leg, and was firmly impaled there.

There was no way in hell she could walk with that thing in her leg, he realised dimly, let alone run. So they either waited for Mathers to find them, which was likely to be any second, or…

"Just go," Alex whispered. Bobby stared down at her, horrified by the suggestion.

"No. I'm not leaving you to him."

"And if you don't go, we're both dead."

Bobby looked up. He could just see through the trees that Mathers was recovering from the blow to the head, and was slowly pushing himself up. It would not be long before he came after them, and Bobby had no doubts that he was no physically able to fight the younger man off. Which left him with just one last alternative…

Alex gasped as Bobby slid his arms beneath her and, with as much care as he could afford, picked her up.

"What are you doing…?" she asked breathlessly. He didn't answer, feeding every ounce of strength and concentration that he had into supporting her weight. Then, he took off at a run through the trees.


	10. Scratching For Clues

_Gore Mountain,  
__North of Saratoga_

Deakins alighted from the SUV, his gaze fixed intently on the house. The place seemed innocuous enough, but just the thought that perhaps his detectives had been held in there… or maybe were still being held… was enough for him to want to see the structure burned to the ground.

"Captain?"

He looked around to find Logan and Bishop approaching with the local police lieutenant.

"This is Lieutenant Pete Harrison," Logan introduced him. "Lieutenant, Captain Deakins, head of the Major Case Squad."

The two men shook hands in a cursory gesture. Deakins was not so long out of the field himself that he didn't notice the irritation in the other man's eyes. Apparently he wasn't too thrilled with being swamped by police from other jurisdictions.

"Your detectives filled me in on the basics," Harrison said. "Personally, I think you're on the wrong track. I know the kid that owns this place. I can't see him doing the sorts of things you're saying that he's done."

"Have you seen Lucas Graham recently?" Deakins asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as members of the New York and Miami CSU teams alighted from vehicles and began unloading equipment. The squad of officers they'd brought with them were already in place, ready to enter the house.

"Lucas Graham…?" Harrison echoed, confused. "If you people are looking for a Lucas Graham, then you've got the wrong place. You won't find anyone by that name here."

Deakins frowned. "According to the records we looked at, that's the name this housewas purchasedunder."

"Well, I don't know anything about that," Harrison said dismissively. "But the kid that uses this place is called Erik Mathers."

"Mathers…?" Bishop echoed, startled. "Captain…"

"That's the brother of the man who was murdered nearly a week ago," Logan said tensely. "The guy who was originally Goren and Eames' prime suspect."

Deakins snapped his fingers at the front door of the house.

"Get that door open, now!"

"Hang on!" Harrison burst out. "You can't just go barging in…"

Deakins waved a thin sheaf of papers under Harrison's nose.

"This warrant says we can. We have two missing people, Lieutenant Harrison, and there's every chance that the person who owns this place is responsible. Now, if you aren't going to assist us, then stay out of the damned way! Logan, Bishop, get in there now!"

Logan and Bishop exchanged half smirks, and Logan signalled to Mack and Horatio that they were ready to enter the house. They led the way, waiting just long enough for the door to be hammered inwards, before moving into the house with their guns drawn. Horatio and Mack followed closely, while the rest of the officers covered the perimeter of the house to watch for anyone who might attempt to flee.

Inside, Logan led the way down a dark hallway to the first room, a door on the left. He pushed it open cautiously, and Bishop stepped in, sweeping the room with her gaze before nodding the all-clear to Logan.

They continued down the hallway, tag-teaming each other with every room they came to, until they'd cleared the entire house.

"It's all clear," Logan said grimly as Deakins joined them. Deakins nodded, and looked around at Mack and Horatio.

"Okay. Send your people in. See if you can work a miracle, and find some proof that Goren and Eames were here."

Mack and Horatio exchanged rueful looks, but neither said a word, and instead went to get their people.

* * *

_Some time later_

"Nothing?" Deakins burst out incredulously. "You've got to be kidding!"

Mack cringed visibly under the force of Deakins' explosion.

"There's nothing. No fibres, no blood, nothing. He didn't bring them here."

"I don't want to hear that," Deakins snapped. "I want to hear you say that we're on the right track! Damn it, Mack, we're running out of time!"

"I said you wouldn't find anything," Harrison said, a little too smugly. Deakins rounded on him furiously.

"Two of my detectives are missing, and we have a little over two days to find them alive. All evidence so far points to the man that you are so convinced couldn't possibly be a killer. Either you start to help, or you get out of our way. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?"

Harrison's smirk faded quickly.

"You mean it's cops that are missing? No one said anything about that. Christ, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Deakins glowered at him.

"We shouldn't have needed to."

"Okay," Harrison said grimly. "Okay… I'm sorry. Yes, I'll help. Look, I'll have one of my deputies take a couple of your CSIs across town to where Erik parked his van when he brought it back down the mountain a few days ago."

"His van?" Logan interrupted. "You mean he's in town right now?"

"Not in town," Harrison answered. "Look, he's been coming up here nearly every week for a couple of months to do some hunting. He never stays in this house, that's why I knew you were never going to find anything in there. I'm sorry, I know I should've said so sooner."

"He comes here every week?" Horatio asked. "When, specifically?"

"Well… Every week for the last couple of months, that is. Before then he'd turn up maybe once every three or four months. Anyway, he usually arrives in town early Monday morning… although, a couple of people said they didn't see him arrive this last Monday until early afternoon. He'll drive up the mountain, off-load whatever he's brought with him, then drive back down here to the town. He'll park his van, then hike back up the mountain. Then, we don't usually see him until late Thursday or Friday. He'll come back down the mountain, collect his van and head back up. I always figured it was to collect whatever kills he's made. He goes there to hunt, you see."

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that he doesn't keep his vehicle up there with him?" Mack asked, frowning. Harrison shrugged.

"A little. But I asked him once, and he said he likes to challenge himself."

"Where exactly does he go when he goes up the mountain?" Deakins asked, struggling to stay calm. Again, Harrison shrugged.

"To his cabin, I guess."

"His cabin?" Logan cut in. "He has another place actually up the mountain?"

"Sure. I don't imagine he'd last more than a day up there without one. Temperatures up there drop to freezing at night. You get caught up there without some sort of shelter, and you might as well kiss your ass goodbye."

"Where's is Mathers' vehicle?" Deakins demanded.

"In the parking lot of our local bar."

"I'd appreciate it if one of your officers would show some of our CSIs to it. And I want to know where this cabin is, exactly."

Harrison looked uncomfortable.

"I don't actually know where the cabin is…"

He grunted in surprise as Deakins grabbed him by his shirt collar, and yanked him in close.

"Then find someone who does. And call Search and Rescue and make sure they're on priority stand-by. We're going up that mountain."

* * *

"You know," Logan said wryly to Bishop, "I never thought Deakins could be as ferocious as that. I thought he was going to take Harrison's head off for a second there."

Bishop glanced back over her shoulder to where Deakins was consulting on a plan of action with Mack Taylor and Horatio Caine. Three of the CSI officers had already gone with one of Harrison's deputies to check out Mathers' van, and the rest of them were getting ready to head up the mountain.

"He doesn't like being jerked around," she murmured. Logan grunted.

"Tell me about it. Especially when it involves the welfare of his two star detectives…"

He trailed off as Bishop focused a hard look on him.

"Why do you do that?" she asked. "Are you jealous of them, or something?"

Logan shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't know. Defensive reaction, maybe."

"Or just a fat ego," Bishop retorted. "What is it, Logan? Do you just hate knowing there's a cop out there who's smarter than you?"

Logan's expression darkened.

"That was below the belt. I told you, I might not particularly like Goren, but that doesn't mean I don't respect him. He and Eames are both good cops. I don't have a problem admitting that. I've just never seen a superior go into bat for his detectives like Deakins has done this time around. It's a bit of an eye-opener, that's all."

Bishop looked back to Deakins once more.

"He just doesn't want them to die," she said softly.

"None of us do," Logan pointed out. "But the truth is, we might not be able to stop that from happening."

She threw him a sharp look, and he held his hands up defensively.

"I don't want them to die, Bishop. I'm just stating facts. You know it as well as I do. Even if we find this cabin, and even if it's the place where Mathers kept them, they could be anywhere now. You said it yourself when Deakins first told us what was going on. We could search for a month up there, and not find them. It's why Mathers brings his victims here."

Bishop clenched her jaw, biting back the budding anger.

"I think I'll keep a positive attitude. Think what you like, Logan. But keep your opinions to yourself."

She stalked off to join a group of officers and CSIs who were mobilising to head up the mountain. Logan watched her go, then sighed faintly and headed after her.

* * *

"Think we'll find anything?" Wolfe asked as he, Eric Delko and Danny Messer approached the van, which sat in the parking lot of the little town's only bar.

"I sure hope so," Danny said grimly, "because if Mathers didn't bring them through here, then those two cops are dead. We don't have any other leads to follow up."

Wolfe and Delko exchanged grim looks, then followed Danny up to the van.

"Unlocked," Danny commented when he tried the rear doors and found them open. "Ballsy."

"Folks mind their own business around here," the officer accompanying them said by way of explanation. "We're out of the way… Don't get many strangers coming through town. People don't feel the need to lock up."

"Lucky break for us," Delko commented. Danny smiled a little, and pulled open the doors.

"Whoa," Wolfe said in a low voice.

"We just caught our next break," Danny said grimly, eyeing the blood soaked interior of the van. "So to speak. Let's just pray some of that blood is human. Ryan, hand me some of those swabs, will you?"

Wolfe handed them over, and Danny climbed carefully into the van to take various samples. He handed them back to Delko, who immediately began testing the blood. A minute later he looked up grimly.

"It is human blood. I'm betting that at least some of it belongs to our missing detectives."

"We won't know that for sure until we get it analysed properly," Danny said, "but right now all we needed was confirmation that there was human blood in there. It's enough to tell us we're going in the right direction. Eric, you want to give your boss a call, let him know what we found?"

Delko nodded and quickly made the call.

* * *

Horatio looked across at Mack and Deakins after speaking to Delko on his cell phone.

"They found blood in Mathers' van. Human blood."

Deakins wheeled around to look at Harrison who, in turn, was looking decidedly pale.

"I want to know where that cabin is, Lieutenant. I want to know now!"

Harrison cringed again. "I'll call Jamie Winters… If anyone knows, it'll be him. He knows that mountain better than anyone around here."

"Send someone to get him," Deakins demanded. "We need all the help we can get."

* * *

"Erik Mathers? Sure, I know where his cabin is. He doesn't like anyone going up there, though. Last time I found myself up that way, he wouldn't even let me through the front door. Not that I really cared to be invited in, of course."

They were on their way up the mountain road, a convoy of seven cars and a large van, after one of Harrison's deputies had collected Jamie Winters from his reserved spot in the local bar. The man was fifty-seven, silver-haired, and about as hardy as they came. True to what Harrison had said, Winters seemed to have an intricate knowledge of the mountain region. He had also been curious to learn that they were looking for Erik Mathers.

"Do you know Mathers very well?" Bishop asked, twisting around in her seat so she could get a good look at Winters. He gave a short, gruff laugh.

"No one in this town knows that boy too well. He made sure of that. He won't talk to anyone unless he's talked to first, and half the time all we can get out of him are one word answers anyway. He definitely doesn't like anyone nosing into his business. He's a real oddball and if you ask me, I think he's dangerous."

"Dangerous in what way?" Logan wondered, ignoring Harrison's derisive snort from the rear of the van.

"Well, just some things he said in the bar, once. This was some time back, mind you. Nearly two years, I think. I remember it, too, because he'd just turned up again after being gone for over eighteen months. Anyway, we were having a drink, and one of the boys mentioned that he'd been invited to join one of those paintball matches. Erik was there, and he piped up and said that paintball was a game for pansies. He said they ought to have a tournament where men could use real weapons… where they could hunt each other down for real. He said paintball was no challenge because no one really got hurt, and everyone knew it. He said it was only a challenge when someone was in real fear of his life.

"Now, the thing that really got me… and it got some of the other boys, too… was the look on his face as he said. I swear, his eyes kind of glazed over as he talked about it. Damn near started drooling, he got himself so excited. I tell you, since that time I've steered well clear of that boy. He had a bloodlust in his eyes that I've never seen before. It was terrifying."

Again, Harrison snorted loudly, derisively. Deakins shot the lieutenant a murderous look.

"Lieutenant, if I were you, I wouldn't be making so much as a squeak back there," Mack Taylor said dryly, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the forensics reports that he had been studying. Harrison immediately went on the defensive.

"Hey, how about you high and mighty, big city cops cut me a little slack? I had no way of knowing what Erik was doing. Hell, there's no real solid evidence even now to suggest he's responsible. All I know is that the kid had valid hunting and gun licenses. I didn't have a responsibility, or a reason, to investigate any further than that. I wouldn't have known what I was looking for if I had. And as for his van, every man in this town who goes up into the mountains to hunt comes back with his vehicle covered in blood."

"Animal blood, maybe," Deakins growled. "But not human blood."

Harrison glowered. "How do you know it isn't his own? Maybe he had an accident…"

It was Logan's turn to snort derisively.

"And maybe we'll get up there and find him, Goren and Eames having a happy little campout together."

"What's Erik done?" Winters asked, frowning.

"We believe he's responsible for the deaths of at least five people," Horatio explained quietly, "and that he has another two people up on the mountain right now."

Winters was horrified.

"You mean… hunting them down… like animals? Oh god…"

"We need you to show us where this cabin is, Mr Winters," Deakins told him. "We believe he holds his victims there before releasing them and hunting them down. If we can find the cabin, we might have a chance of finding his two current victims."

Winters nodded slowly.

"Well, I can take you there all right, but the problem is that it's nowhere that you can get to by car. Closest we can get to it is about ten miles, maybe more. If Erik has done what you say, I don't see how he could get those poor folk up there in the first place."

"Just show us where to go, Mr Winters," Mack said quietly. "Let us worry about the rest."

Winters nodded his compliance.

"Sure."

* * *

They continued on up the twisting, narrow mountain road for nearly an hour and a half. It wasn't until the reached a lookout point near to where the road ended that Winters spoke.

"This is as close as we can get. Have to walk from here."

They alighted from the vehicles in silence, emerging into the frigidly cold mountain air, Major Case detectives, CSU officers and task force officers alike.

Deakins left the group to its preparations after pulling on a heavy duty coat, and walked over to the edge of the woods, staring into the blackness beyond the trees in heavy silence. He was acutely aware that night was coming on fast, and the thought of Bobby and Alex out there somewhere in the freezing cold night was like a knife in his gut.

As much as he was praying for a good result, deep down he understood the grim reality. He knew what the chances were of his two best detectives being found alive. Even if Mathers had kept them together… Even taking into account Bobby Goren's incredible intellect and intuitiveness, and Alex Eames' stubborn determination and strength of will… What chance did the two of them really have?

He recalled with reluctance his conversation with Gavin Eames, Alex's father, two days previous, and having to tell the man that his daughter and her partner were in the hands of a psychopath. Gavin's first reaction had been all cop. Did they have a lead? More importantly, did they have a suspect? Deakins had been sick to his stomach, having to answer no to both questions.

Then, Gavin's second reaction had been all loving father. He had broken down in tears, and begged Deakins to do everything in his power to find them alive. It was a promise Deakins had readily made, but they had both known the odds. And the odds were not good.

"These two that are missing…"

Deakins looked around to find Winters standing beside him. The older man went on quietly.

"They're friends of yours, aren't they."

It was not a question. Deakins was silent, considering that for a moment. In all truth, he'd never thought of Bobby and Alex as friends. Colleagues and subordinates, yes, but friends…?

"Yes," he said softly, and felt a fresh pain through his heart as he made the admission to himself as well as to Winters. "They are. They're also two damned fine cops."

Winters started a little in surprise.

"Cops? Erik took two cops? That damned idiot. Like the rest of it isn't bad enough, but he'll be signing his own death warrant if he kills a couple of cops.

Deakins didn't say anything to that. Winters peered at him questioningly.

"He already has signed his death warrant, hasn't he? You people aren't planning on taking him alive, are you?"

"We would prefer to take him alive," Deakins said carefully. "Whether we actually do will be partly up to him."

Winters smiled faintly.

"My brother is a cop, Captain Deakins. I know about the whole 'brotherhood' thing. Erik crossed a line when he took two cops. Even if you do find them alive, I imagine they'll be pretty badly beat up. I don't need to see proof to know that Erik is a sadistic little bastard. It won't surprise me at all if he ends up with a cop's bullet in his head or his heart. And just quietly, that might not be such a bad thing."

Deakins looked sideways at Winters, his expression inscrutable. They two men stared at each other for a long moment, until Logan approached, cautiously tapping Deakins on the shoulder.

"We're ready to move, Captain."

Deakins nodded, adjusting his coat.

"Okay, then. Which way, Mr Winters?"

Winters pointed to an opening in the trees, and what appeared to be a well-worn, narrow walking track.

"Through there. About two miles in, and then we turn off the track and head north-west. Another seven or eight miles or so beyond that will get us to the cabin."

"Okay," Deakins muttered, silently dreading the long, anxious walk ahead of them. "Let's go."


	11. Fighting For Survival

"Stop," Alex moaned after what felt like an age, even as Bobby continued to plough through the trees. Either he didn't hear her, or he was ignoring her. He continued on, not running any longer but almost staggering forward as he fought his own pain and fatigue to put as much space as possible between them and Mathers.

She clung weakly to him, the pain from her wounded leg sending her brain into sensory overload and completely fogging up her thought process.

"Bobby… stop… You're… gonna collapse…"

All she got in reply was a strained grunt. In shock from her own wound, all she could do was press her face in against his chest, shut her eyes and hope to God that he didn't collapse.

Hope was fading deep within her, though. There were no sounds to suggest that Mathers coming through the trees after them, but she knew he could not be far behind them. She knew in her gut there was no escaping him this time.

"Stop," she choked out, trying once more to make him stop. She pounded one fist weakly on his chest, desperate to get his attention before he killed himself from over-exertion. This time he reacted, slowing to a halt. His gaze went to her, his eyes clouded by fear and trauma, but also with deep concern for her.

"Put me down," she mumbled, wondering how much longer she was going to be able to stay conscious.

He looked around anxiously, then moved around behind a couple of large trees, and lay her down gently on the cold ground.

"We can't stay here," he whispered as loudly as he dared. "He'll catch up to us."

She reached up, grasped his hand. They were both trembling badly, she from fear and pain and he from fear and exhaustion.

"We can't outrun him," she told him softly, struggling to concentrate past the fiery pain that was engulfing her leg. "Not while you have to carry me. Bobby… I think we're going to have to split up."

He stared at her in open disbelief.

"But… You can't…"

She squeezed his hand tighter.

"You have to leave me here. You might have a chance to get away… if you're on your own."

Even as she spoke the words, she could see his rejection of them in his face. Hurt, mixed with anger, lit up in his eyes.

"We promised," he whispered. "Damn it, we promised."

"I know. It's time to break that promise."

The not-too-faint sound of someone coming through the trees reached their ears. She looked up at him, fresh desperation written on her face.

"Bobby, just go! At least save yourself!"

He crouched there beside her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, he spoke in a voice thick with emotion.

"No."

Alex had no chance to respond as he lifted her off the ground once more, and took off through the trees with renewed energy. All she could do was cling to him as he moved at a speed that defied the injuries he had.

He was operating on pure anger and adrenalin, and she could only hope it would be enough to get them away from Mathers.

They came out of the trees into a clearing, and she felt Bobby stagger to a halt, his breath coming in ragged bursts.

"Oh… no…"

She heard him whisper the words, and sensed the despair in his voice. She lifted her head, vision badly blurred.

"What is it…?"

She trailed off, taking in the sight before them with a similar feeling of sudden despair.

They had come out of the trees to find themselves at the edge of a steep drop. Below them was a wall of rock that went straight down at a sheer vertical angle and at the bottom of the precipice, far enough down to give anyone vertigo, was a river that they could not see in the dark, only hear. Bobby's tired mind estimated from the sound of the water below that it was perhaps fifty feet or more to the bottom, and there was no way of telling how deep that body of water was, or how fast it was running.

Hugging to him as tightly as she was able, Alex could feel the strain slowly beginning to overcome him. She feared he was on the brink of collapse, and it terrified her to think how much damage he might be doing to himself.

"Bobby, you gotta stop," she mumbled, though she suspected that he had no intention of stopping again.

"Can't," he answered hoarsely. "He's right behind us."

Bobby turned to his right and began to make his way along the rocky ground, moving as fast as he dared in the darkness. Twice he stumbled, and Alex's heart rate soared both times. If they slipped and fell into the gully beside them, she doubted either one of them would survive. If the fall itself didn't kill them, the freezing water far below surely would.

There was a sharp whistling sound in the silence that froze Alex's blood, and Bobby's as well, judging from the way his grip on her tightened. A moment later, they heard a dull thud as the unseen arrow struck a tree heart-stoppingly close by.

Bobby picked up the pace, almost running again. His breathing had become even more ragged and erratic as he struggled to make every step count. But he was fading, and Alex could sense it as clearly as she could sense Mathers quickly closing the gap between them.

She shut her eyes, helpless to do anything but wait for what she saw as the inevitable.

Bobby staggered on, barely able to see more than five feet ahead of him through the blackness of night. He was dimly aware of Alex's pleas for him to stop, but he didn't dare. He still believed they could escape Mathers, but that wouldn't happen if he stopped now, like she was begging him to.

Pain was alight through his body, especially his head and his shoulder. Carrying Alex like this was going to cost him dearly, he suspected, but if it meant their survival for a little longer, then so be it.

He held her all the more tightly to him, determined not to let go of her for any reason. Her words to him earlier… asking him to leave her… had cut him to the heart. They had sworn right from the start that they would not abandon each other, and it hurt to think that she believed that he would, even if she was the one insisting on it. He could no more have left her than he could have physically split himself in two. She should have known that well enough not to even make the suggestion.

Now, he was subconsciously aware of her face pressing in against his shoulder, and her arms clinging weakly to him. More acutely, he was aware of the arrow shaft impaling her right thigh. God only knew what damage it had done, what nerves it may have severed or what muscles it may have torn.

When they did eventually stop, he would have to get it out, and then it would be a race against time to seal the wound and keep her from bleeding out. There was one sure fire way to do that, but he was loathed to think about it, let alone carry it out.

He knew he was going to have to do it, though, like it or not. He was going to have to cauterise the entry points, and to do that he would have to be aware and in control. And, he was going to have to find a way to get a fire going.

Finding a piece of metal to do the job would be no problem. He could take the metal arrowhead and use it. It would mean removing it before getting the shaft out of her leg, but it was all he had. As long as he could get a fire going, heating up the arrowhead to cauterise the wound would not be a problem. And, when he was done, he could use what remained of his shirt to turn into makeshift bandages.

He was so buried in his own thoughts about how he was going to help Alex that he nearly didn't see that they had come as far as they could.

Bobby skidded to a halt, realising almost too late that they had come to a pinnacle of land, a cul-de-sac with nowhere left to go but back. He looked down into the gully before them, hearing the roar of water that he could not see.

There was no other option. He had to turn back. All he could pray was that they still had time before Mathers caught up with them.

A second whistling sound cut through the night, and Bobby went rigid, his grip of Alex tightening involuntarily to the point where she cried a little in pain. She looked up at him, confused and frightened, then slipped her left arm down to his waist, searching for confirmation of her fears. A moment later, she found it. A wooden shaft had buried itself deep in his waist on the right side.

"Bobby…" she whispered, suddenly terrified as she realised exactly where they were.

He took a stumbling step forward, his eyes glazing over with pain and shock. The ground crumbled under his feet, and then gave way completely.

Bobby recovered from the shock of the new wound only to realise too late what was happening. His feet slipped beneath him as the fragile ground crumbled away into nothing, and the next instant they were plummeting through darkness to the river that flowed below.

In those last precious seconds of awareness, Bobby did the only thing he could, twisting his body around to try and create a barrier between Alex and the inevitable impact that was coming. He felt her tense and struggle as she realised what he was doing, but even in his weakened state his strength still surpassed hers.

Alex had not the energy or the time to scream they slipped and fell off the edge of the precipice. One second they had been on solid ground, the next they were free-falling God only knew how far to a perhaps not so uncertain fate in the river below.

Even as they fell, though, she felt Bobby twisting himself around. Was he really doing what she thought…? He was, she realised dazedly. He was deliberately putting himself between her and the coming impact.

She fought to stop him, but her strength was gone. His arms folded around her, holding her on top of him to protect her as much as possible from what was coming. In the end, she could only shut her eyes and wait.

They hit the water long seconds later, and then darkness claimed them both.

* * *

_  
Dusk_

They walked in silence, with Winters and Deakins at the lead, and Mack Taylor and Horatio Caine close behind. Logan, Bishop, Ash and King followed behind them, and after that came the contingent of CSIs and the rest of the taskforce. In all there were nearly thirty people.

As Winters had instructed, they moved off the path a couple of miles in and headed northward. The going was not easy until Logan happened to sidestep to avoid Bishop stumbling into him, missed his footing and disappeared down a hidden slope with a crash.

"Logan?" Deakins called to him, sounding highly irritated. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

There was a long silence, and then Logan's voice floated back up to them.

"Captain, I think you should come down here. I think you ought to see this."

Frowning still, Deakins made his way down the slope. He found Logan at the bottom, looking slightly crumpled, but otherwise unhurt, and standing in the middle of what appeared to be a well-worn dirt track with distinct tyre impressions in the soil.

"Are you all right?" Deakins asked. Logan nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But I think I just found out how Mathers got Goren and Eames to that cabin from the road. Look."

Deakins looked, and his jaw dropped. A little ways back down the track, almost completely shielded by a combination of shrubs and shadows, was a quad bike and flat bed trailer.

"Mack!" Deakins called back up the slope. "Come down here!"

Mack joined them a minute later, gingerly making his way down the slope to them.

"Check this out," Deakins told him, leading the way along the track to the bike. Mack's attention went immediately to the trailer.

"There's blood on this. I'm betting we'll find it belongs to either Detective Goren or Detective Eames, or both. It also means we are definitely headed in the right direction."

"Logan, get everyone else down here," Deakins said. "We'll follow this path."

"I'm not sure that's such a great idea, Captain," Logan said tentatively. "If we happen to run into Mathers…"

"Then we'll take him out," Deakins growled. Logan hesitated, contemplating how to say what he wanted without further aggravating the captain. In the end, Mack said it for him.

"Captain Deakins, I think Detective Logan is trying to say that if we take Mathers before we find Goren and Eames… Well, we may never find them. We'd be best to stick to the path Winters was taking us along… try and keep our presence here as quiet as possible, at least for the moment."

Deakins sighed faintly.

"Point taken. Well, let's get back up there, and get moving again."

When they got back up the slope, it was to an increasingly agitated Jamie Winters.

"It's going to be near to pitch black here in less than half an hour. We can't make it to the cabin before dark. Best we can do is to find a spot to set up camp for the night."

"Mathers won't stop for the night," Horatio said quietly, "and neither do we."

Winters looked around at them, clearly dismayed.

"But that's insane!"

"So is Erik Mathers," Deakins said coolly. "My two detectives are out there somewhere, Mr Winters, and I doubt they'll get much rest tonight. We keep moving."

Winters conceded, albeit with extreme reluctance.

"Okay. I think you're all fools, but okay."

* * *

They trekked onward, breaking out the heavy duty torches as night fell, blanketing them in darkness so complete that they could barely see five feet in front of them. The hour was getting late, pressing on towards ten o'clock, when Winters brought them to a halt. 

"We're only a couple of miles from his cabin now. Another twenty or thirty minutes, and we should be there."

Deakins nodded. His stomach was a mass of knots now, in anticipation of what they would find sending his adrenalin into hyper drive.

"Okay, then. Let's get moving…"

He trailed off abruptly as a new sound broke the otherwise still night. A cry of pain split the night, the bone-chilling sound reaching them through the trees.

"What the hell was that?" Delko said hoarsely. Deakins had gone white, his pale features reflecting the light from the torches. He had recognised that voice, and a quick glanced revealed that he was not the only one.

"That was Eames," David Ash said tensely. "I'm positive it was Eames."

"It was," Deakins confirmed. "Winters, which way?"

Winters pointed through the trees.

"That way. Straight ahead."

Deakins snapped his fingers, indicating for the taskforce leaders – Logan, Bishop, Mack and Horatio – to lead the way.

"Get moving," he told them, his voice audibly strained with fear for whatever may have caused Eames to scream in pain. Logan and Bishop took off at a run, with Mack and Horatio close on their heels. The rest of the taskforce quickly fell in behind.

They came upon the cabin abruptly. One moment they'd been stumbling through the darkness, the next they broke into a clearing, and found themselves virtually on the front steps on Mathers' cabin. The front door was wide open, and as near they could tell, the place appeared to be deserted.

"Look at this," Horatio murmured, shining his flashlight on the ground near the steps.

"Soil's been disturbed," Mack commented. "There was a struggle here not too long ago."

"Building's clear," Bishop announced as she and Logan emerged from inside the cabin minutes later. "No one's home."

"But we got the right place," Logan added as Deakins led the rest of the team into the clearing. "There're two rooms to this place. The first has a bed, a cabinet, throw rug on the floor… Real rustic, simple living type thing. But the other is just a concrete floor, and ropes hanging from hooks on the wall, and blood on the floor. And we found this under the bed."

He kicked a battered old suitcase down the steps, causing the lid to fly open, revealing the hidden contents.

"Christ," Deakins muttered as he crouched down to look at the shredded clothes inside the case. "These are Goren and Eames' clothes… Their jackets… their shoes…"

"Bad enough that they're out there in the cold," Calleigh said grimly, looking over Horatio's shoulder at the ruined clothing. "They'll be hypothermic for sure with only their shirts and pants on."

"I think Goren and Eames were here not that long ago," Mack piped up, aware of the ashen colour that Deakins had gone at Calleigh's words. "There's evidence of a struggle here… and look there. Those bushes have been disturbed."

He rose up from where he'd been examining the soil, and hurried over to look at the new evidence. He disappeared into the trees, only to emerge a minute later looking grim.

"I found fresh blood. Someone's got a new wound."

"Eames," Deakins said grimly. "Damn it, do we have any idea which way they might have gone?"

The only answer to his question was silence. Finally he sighed and nodded.

"Okay. We'll set up here for the night. I want lookouts posted all around, in case Mathers comes back. First thing in the morning, we'll bring in Search and Rescue, and start looking for them properly."

"We'll find them, Captain," Logan said quietly, sounding more confident than he honestly felt. "We'll get to them in time. I'm sure of it."

Deakins stared out into the blackness surrounding the cabin.

"I wish I was, Logan."

He turned and headed into the cabin, leaving Logan alone to contemplate his own words.

_

* * *

Early the following morning _

Alex awoke to pain. Pain in her legs, her arms, her head… Pain eclipsed everything, and almost completely engulfed her entire body. She lay still, staring upwards blindly, her thoughts scrambled and incoherent.

It took several minutes of consciously struggling to set her mind in order before she realised it was no longer night.

Alex blinked once, then twice as her vision slowly adjusted to daylight. She didn't remember how she had made it through the long, terrifying night. The last thing she clearly remembered was… what? Being at the cabin… Mathers coming back… Being shot…

She gasped in momentary panic as those memories assailed her. Anxious to see the state of her wounded leg, she tried to sit up quickly. That was when she discovered her arm was broken.

Alex sobbed aloud as pain flared through the limb, forcing her to lie back down. How badly it was broken she didn't know, but it hurt like hell.

Minutes passed, and the pain gradually subsided. When it had faded to a more tolerable level, she tried again, this time taking care to use only her good right arm. Once she finally managed to get herself sitting up, the sight that met her left her truly stunned.

The arrow was gone from her leg, and strips of formerly white material were wrapped firmly around her thigh. The entire right leg of her pants was gone, cut away to give the one who had treated the wound free access to her leg.

What made her exceptionally curious, though, was the apparent lack of blood. The material substituting for bandages should have been soaked in it, but there appeared to be only a very minimal amount.

Intensely curious, she carefully lifted the material, and was stunned by what she saw. The wound had been cauterised, sealing it over and preventing significant blood loss that could possibly have led to her bleeding out.

She drew in a steadying breath. Someone had cauterised her wound. Someone, she suspected, named Bobby.

She looked around, half expecting to see him sitting nearby, smiling at her in that sweet, shy way of his. Instead, her gaze fell on the dying embers of a fire, set up close enough to her to have kept her from freezing throughout the rest of the night. But where was Bobby?

Then she saw him. He lay on the ground on the far side of the fire… asleep or unconscious? She hoped to God he was just asleep. His shirt was gone entirely; used, she suspected, to make the improvised bandages for her leg. Gathering her strength, she dragged herself around to him, anxious to see that he was okay.

He lay still and silent, unresponsive to her calls for him to wake up. His face was the colour of ash, and there was no telling how much blood he had lost in the hours before dawn.

Alex pressed her cold fingers to his throat, and was gratified at least to find a strong pulse. Now, if she could only wake him up.

"Bobby, c'mon," she begged, fighting to control her fear. "Please wake up…"

She was finally rewarded with a weak moan from her partner, and it was all she could do not to cry with relief. Slowly, his eyes opened, and his vision eventually focused on her.

"'lex…" he mumbled, and she could hear the relief in his voice. "You 'kay…?"

She smiled tearfully at him.

"I think so, thanks to you. What about you? Are you okay?"

But even before he could gather his thoughts to give her an answer, she knew he was not. Where her left arm was badly broken, it appeared his right leg was in a similarly bad state. The right leg of his pants had been torn open, and the flesh beneath was almost entirely black and blue, and painfully swollen. His leg was most certainly broken, probably in more than one place.

A quick glance revealed they were a good couple of hundred yards from the riverbank. How, she wondered dazedly, had he gotten them both out of the water, _and_ gotten a fire going? She suspected she would never know. He probably could not remember doing it himself.

"Couldn't…"

He trailed off, coughing painfully, and she felt a spark of fear at the thin line of blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"You couldn't what?" Alex asked softly.

"Couldn't… Couldn't get it… out…"

She was confused. Her gaze went to her wounded leg. Did he not remember getting the arrow out?

"Yes, you did," she reassured him. "Bobby, you did get… it… Oh… Oh god…"

Her blood chilled in her veins as she suddenly realised what he meant, and more memories of the night before came creeping back. He didn't mean the arrow that had pierced her leg. He meant something else.

She reached around him, and her hand closed over the long arrow shaft that protruded from his waist, at the back. There was no way of knowing how far in it was, or how much damage it had done. His hand closed over her wrist, drawing her attention back to him.

"It has to… come out…"

She felt a sudden, inexplicable rush of nausea through her gut. She thought she knew was coming, and she was fairly certain she didn't want to hear it.

"Bobby, if I pull it out… It could kill you…"

"Gotta… Gotta punch it through the other side." His fingers brushed lightly over his stomach. "It missed my lung… I'd be dead if it hadn't. But you've gotta punch it through the other side."

Alex's stomach rolled as she finally understood what he was asking. It had been hard enough getting that spiked ball out of his shoulder. She didn't know whether she had the strength or the stomach for this.

Yet, as much as she wanted to tell him no, she couldn't. After all, how hard must it have been for him to do what he did for her, even if she had been unconscious at the time?

"What do I need to do?" she asked softly. Even through his pain, she could see the relief and gratitude in his brown eyes.

"Build up the fire," he told her. "The arrow that I… I pulled out of your leg… Get it hot in the fire… You'll have… have to use it to… to cauterise the wounds… once the arrow is out."

Tears filled her eyes.

"I don't know if I can do this."

"If you don't… I'm going to die."

Her breath caught in her throat at the blunt ultimatum. She wanted to argue against that, but couldn't. After all, surely he knew better than she just how serious his own injuries were. If he said he was going to die unless the arrow came out, then she had to believe him.

In grim silence, Alex set about building the fire back up to strength. Collecting sufficient wood to do the job was no easy task, given that she could hardly crawl, let alone walk, but somehow she managed it. She then carefully set the metal arrowhead in the reheated embers, taking care to keep the wooden shaft clear of the fire.

"What now?" she asked, not entirely sure that she wanted him to answer.

"Help me sit up," he mumbled.

She did so, with considerable effort, and then could only watch as he dragged himself a short distance across the ground, to lean against a tree.

"Your leg," she said softly. He looked at her, apologetic.

"I'm sorry. I was looking for wood… something to brace your arm with… But I must have passed out… before I could."

Not for the first time, Alex had to fight an urge to hit him. Here she was, concerned with injuries that could potentially kill him, and he was apologising for supposedly not doing everything he could for her.

"Don't worry about my arm," she told him. "I can cope. But we'll have to do something about your leg."

"The water… It was shallow."

She stared at him, thoroughly confused now, and wondering whether he was suffering some degree of delirium. He certainly didn't seem to be consciously focusing on the current crisis.

"Bobby, what are you talking about?"

"When we fell last night," he said. "The water wasn't deep. I broke my leg… and you broke your arm… on the rocks."

"We're lucky we weren't killed," she agreed grimly, finally understanding what he was trying to say. "Okay… What do I do now?"

"Look at the arrowhead. What colour is it?"

She peered across at the fire without shifting her position.

"Bright red."

"Okay, that's hot enough. Listen, Alex… When you do this, I'm probably going to pass out. I don't think I can prevent that. Once the arrow is out, you'll have to be quick. Take the arrow out of the fire… seal both wounds with it. If… If you don't, I could bleed out."

"And what about your leg?"

"I'll worry about that later."

She didn't voice her fear that if they stayed where they were for much longer, there might not be a later. She had no doubt that Mathers was searching for them even now.

"Okay," she murmured, and rested her hand on the end of the shaft. Her mind was in turmoil, running a hundred and one scenarios of things that could go wrong. The predominant fear in her mind was that the shaft might break as she was trying to push it through, leaving the arrowhead and part of the shaft inside his body. If that were to happen, the shock alone would probably kill him.

"It might not come out in one go," Bobby whispered. "If it doesn't… you have to keep pushing."

She couldn't resist a smirk at that.

"Last time I heard that line, I was in labour."

Bobby laughed softly. Alex took the opportunity of the momentary distraction, and shoved against the arrow with all her strength.

Bobby's scream of pain shattered the stillness. His back arched involuntarily in defence against the extreme pain and then, true to his warning, he lost consciousness, slumping against the tree.

Alex pulled herself around to look at his front, and nearly cried with relief when she saw the arrow had pierced through the flesh just beneath his ribcage. Grasping the protruding part of the arrow, she pulled hard.

To her immense relief, the shaft slid out with little resistance. As Bobby had warned, though, both entry and exit points began to bleed profusely.

Stretching across the ground, Alex pulled the other arrow from the fire. She wasted no time in pressing the red hot metal to the open wound, cringing at the sharp hissing sound and the sickening smell of searing flesh. She thanked God that he was not awake to suffer this agony.

She then performed the task on his back, sealing both wounds. Then, the awful task completed, Alex crawled some metres away and began to dry retch violently.

Minutes passed before she finally regained some semblance of control. Feeling sick and wasted, she made her way back to Bobby's side, and gently guided him to lie down on the rocky ground. She then lay down carefully next to him, taking care not to aggravate her broken arm. When he regained consciousness, she would see about doing something to brace his leg, and perhaps her arm as well, but until then she was content to just rest along side of him.

Were Mathers to happen along at that point, she could almost say she didn't really give a damn, but instinct told her they were safe from him for a little while longer. Settling down beside him, she shut her eyes and slipped into a light sleep.

* * *


	12. Beginning The Search

When Alex awoke next, she discovered Bobby was no longer beside her. She sat up quickly, fear clutching at her gut, only to cry out as pain flared through her arm and shoulder. She collapsed back to the ground, shutting her eyes and waiting for the pain to subside to a tolerable level before trying again. While she lay there, she felt movement beside her, and looked to find Bobby had appeared, and was sitting next to her.

"Hey," she mumbled, relieved to see him awake and apparently alert. "How're you feeling?"

"Still hurting," he admitted, gently helping her to sit up. "Better, though. You did a good job."

She looked down athis stomach wound, and guessed that his ambiguous reply of 'still hurting' was most likely a massive understatement. The flesh was red and raw, and looked as painful as her leg felt, but at least it was sealed over. She could only hope and pray that there was no internal bleeding.

"It'll be okay," he murmured, answering her unspoken fears. "It's been a while, now. If there was any internal bleeding…"

He left the obvious unsaid. If there had been internal bleeding, he probably would have been dead by now. She groaned softly, trying to balance herself to take any excess pressure off her wounded leg without aggravating her injured arm.

"I suppose we're going to have to get moving again, aren't we?"

He looked regretful.

"Well… If we stay here, he'll find us sooner or later."

Alex felt her spirits start to sink once more, and found herself snapping at him before she could reign in her frustration.

"Just how far do you think we're going to get, Bobby? I can hardly walk… You _can't_ walk. What does it matter whether we go or stay? Either way, he is going to catch up to us sooner or later. Probably sooner, given our luck so far."

He didn't flinch away from her anger, but rather smiled a little, then looked to his broken leg. She followed his gaze and, to her astonishment, saw that his leg had been braced using a long piece of wood that was tied with strips of material that she recognised as being the mutilated remains of his trouser legs. Both of his pants legs were gone now, she noted, leaving him wearing nothing more than a ragged pair of shorts that used to be an expensive pair of trousers.

He had braced his own leg, she thought incredulously. God, that must have hurt.

She looked back at him to find him holding a length of wood in one hand, and spare strips of material in the other.

"Your turn."

* * *

"You know, you're starting to look like Robinson Crusoe?"

Bobby smiled in amusement, one hand going to his face and rubbing over his growing beard.

"Would you hit me if I made the obvious reply to that?"

She smirked at him.

"You mean if you were about to make a crack about me being your 'Girl Friday'? Definitely."

He laughed, and Alex felt a rush of warmth at the sound. Their situation was so bleak that the sounds of either of them laughing were moments to be savoured.

She cringed in pain a moment later as he pulled tight the material he was using to tie the makeshift brace to her broken arm.

"Sorry," he murmured. "But it has to be tight."

She let her breath out in a long hiss.

"S'okay. I tell you, when I get my gun back, Mathers is _so_ going down."

Bobby smiled again, not so much amused now as relieved and grateful to see the spark back in her eyes, and hear a rejuvenated spirit in her voice. They had been through hell together over the last few days, and the negativity, depression and increasing despair they'd both suffered had left him feeling confused and a little afraid.

He was no stranger to those emotions, of course, and neither was Alex. But he was also accustomed to her generally positive, 'kick-butt' attitude… her often caustic wit… on the whole, the way she kept him grounded, and connected to reality. The truth was, he honestly had not realised until now just how much he relied on her to keep himself positive and focused. He was more grateful than he was capable of expressing to see that part of her personality surfacing once more.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, watching him curiously. He smiled at her, that small, sweet smile that he seemed to reserve only for her.

"Just how glad I am that we're together."

She looked away quickly, feeling a sudden, unpleasant rush of guilt for her pleas to him the previous night to leave her and try to save himself. She didn't really know what she had been thinking when she'd begged him to do that. The only explanation she could think of was that she had been half out of her mind with fear and pain. She would never be able to fully express to him her gratitude that he had disregarded her pleas.

"Alex?"

She looked back at him slowly, reluctantly, and for an instant she recalled the hurt in his eyes the previous night when she'd told him to leave her. Then, the vision was gone, and she was looking into a pair of brown eyes that were full of understanding.

"It's okay," he told her. "You were hurting. It wasn't your fault."

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks before she could stop them. He reached out and gently drew her to him in a soothing embrace, taking care not to press against her injured arm. They sat there together in silence for a while, before Alex finally drew back out of his embrace.

"We'd better move. Are you sure you can walk?"

"Yeah," he muttered, dragging himself across the ground to the tree, and hauling himself to his feet. "Can't exactly run, but yeah, I think can walk."

She looked doubtful as she got up, but said nothing. If he could cope with walking on a badly broken leg, then she could cope with walking on her injured leg.

"Do you want a stick or something to lean on?" he asked, and she momentarily felt a rush of anger at the apparent insinuation of weakness, until she looked around to see him positioning a long, thick branch under his arm to use as a crutch.

"I found it earlier, while you were still asleep," he said by way of explanation. "I stripped it clean… Figured I'd be needing it." He pointed to the ground nearby, and she saw a second branch, also stripped clean. "Did one for you, too, if you want it."

Alex smiled faintly, touched by his thoughtfulness. Leaning over, she picked it up, and positioned it carefully under her right arm.

"Thanks, Bobby." She paused, then had to smile at the sight the two of them made. "Look at us. We look like a couple of bums."

Bobby chuckled softly. "At least we're both in good company."

Alex's grin widened.

"C'mon, Robinson. Let's go."

He returned her grin.

"After you, Friday."

She took a swing at him with the stick as she went past, sending them both into fresh peels of laughter. They headed into the trees, still laughing.

* * *

None of them slept that night. Officers took turns to guard the perimeter of the cabin in case Mathers did happen to come back. Inside, the cabin had become the taskforce's new base of operations. Deakins had Logan summon Search & Rescue, the head of which promised a full compliment, search dogs and choppers included, at first light.

While most of them could do little more than wait, Deakins spent the better part of his time at the small table, studying the maps they had brought with them with absolute single-mindedness. He didn't stop until Horatio finally coaxed him outside under the pretext of needing his opinion on something.

"Captain Deakins… if you don't mind me asking… when was the last time you got any sleep?"

It was with some effort that Deakins controlled his temper. He could see the Miami lieutenant was genuinely concerned, but all the same he did not appreciate being dictated to by a junior officer, no matter how sincere their intentions. As it was, he couldn't keep his voice entirely free of irritation

"I don't see how that is any of your concern."

Horatio nodded slowly, not the slightest bit perturbed by Deakins' acerbic reply.

"That may be, but what is my concern is the welfare of your two missing detectives. And what _does_ concern me is how their chances of survival may be affected because their captain is suffering from sleep deprivation."

Deakins contemplated Horatio's words in silence. When he eventually spoke, Horatio couldn't miss the exhaustion and the emotional pain his voice.

"Lieutenant Caine, I doubt that I could sleep even if I wanted to. I understand what you're saying, but it just is not possible at the moment. Tell me… have you ever had any of your people go missing? Do you have any idea what it's like?"

"No," Horatio conceded quietly. "I don't…"

"Well, I hope you never have to find out."

"But I do know what it's like to lose one of them. One of my team was shot and killed in front of me."

Deakins looked questioningly at him.

"Recently?"

"Recently enough. It happened three or four months ago."

"I'm sorry. But perhaps you can understand why I can't relax. Bobby and Alex are out there somewhere. We know at least one of them is hurt, possibly seriously. I can't sleep, knowing that bastard Erik Mathers could be out there hunting them down right now. It's hard enough knowing we have to wait until dawn for Search & Rescue. I can't rest. Not until we have them back safe."

"I understand," Horatio murmured, his respect for Deakins increasing ten-fold. The truth was that there were few superior officers around who would personally go to these lengths for his subordinates. Bobby Goren and Alex Eames were damned lucky to have such a man as their captain.

"Why did you come here, Lieutenant?"

Horatio looked at Deakins, momentarily confused.

"I'm sorry….?"

"To New York, I mean. You didn't have to come. You could just as easily have sent us all the information you had without going to the trouble or the expense of mobilising your entire team."

Horatio hesitated in answering.

"We could have done that," he agreed quietly. "If it had been any other killer, we might have done that. But this man… You have to understand, Captain Deakins, we had the best people available in the state of Florida working the case, and we never came close to catching him. I'm not here to carry out any vendetta or grudge on behalf of Miami. I'm here because I know how deadly this man really is. The last thing I wanted to do was to step on anyone's toes…"

"Don't misunderstand me, Lieutenant," Deakins interrupted gently. "I'm grateful that you're here. From what Mack has reported to me, you have a damned fine team working for you, and having the extra help has been a blessing for all of us. I was just curious to know why you felt you had to come personally."

Horatio smiled a little.

"Two cops are missing. We can help. It's as simple as that, Sir."

Deakins nodded.

"Thankyou."

"You're welcome."

* * *

First light came shortly after four-thirty, the first rays of sunlight breaking through the trees to create a surreal sensation of light and shadows.

As promised, the first of the Search & Rescue choppers arrived promptly, landing in a clearing half a mile away from the cabin. From it alighted ten officers in all, and three Search dogs. Deakins met them along with Mack and Horatio, to decide on the best plan of action.

"I hope you folks have some idea of where you want us to start searching," the team lieutenant, Graham Trent, told Deakins. "We came up here with practically no information at all."

"Okay," Deakins said. "This is what's happening. We have two police officers missing up here somewhere. We know they started out at the cabin half a mile back through those trees, but we only have a general idea of the direction they went in. There is another man out there somewhere, a very dangerous individual, who we believe is looking for the two that are missing."

"To kill them, you mean," Trent said grimly. "Are you going to offer my team any sort of protection in casewe run into this lunatic?"

Deakins nodded. "I have nearly thirty officers up here. I'll assign a small team to each of your search teams."

"Okay, then. Show my pilot what areas you want him to start sweeping, and he can get back in the air. Then we'll get started on the ground. There are five more teams coming in from elsewhere, and two more choppers, so we'll be able to cover more ground when they get here."

Five minutes later the chopper was back in the air, and Deakins, Mack and Horatio led the search officers back to the cabin to begin the search in earnest.

"I don't suppose you thought to bring any pieces of clothing with you that belong to the two that are missing?" Trent asked, not sounding hopeful.

"As a matter of fact, we did," Deakins answered. "Bishop?"

Bishop came forward with two sealed plastic bags. In one was a blue tank top, and in the other a man's white shirt.

"How'd you get hold of those?" Logan asked in a low voice as she retreated back to his side.

"Eames' father brought in the tank top for us," Bishop answered.

"And what, you went through Goren's locker?"

She shook her head.

"No. You remember that Deakins sent me on an errand before we left New York to come out here? He sent me to Goren's apartment to find some piece of clothing that we could use for searching, if it was needed. I pulled that shirt out of his hamper."

Logan was silent for a moment, considering that.

"You were in Goren's apartment… You went through his hamper…"

"Stop your brain right there, Logan," she growled. "I did not go prying through anything, and I took the first thing I found in the hamper, which happened to be that shirt. Then I got out of there."

Logan smirked.

"C'mon, Bishop, are you seriously telling me that you didn't have just one quick poke around?"

She glared at him.

"Well, I guess I just didn't feel I could afford to waste any time, unlike you. Two lives are at stake here, and you're having a go at me because I didn't go prying through Goren's personal things? You really are unbelievable."

Logan held up his hands defensively.

"You can't blame me for being curious, can you? I mean, I bet his place is full of books. Did you see heaps of books while you were there?"

She glowered at the ground. If he didn't shut up soon, she was going to hit him.

"I wasn't looking for books, Logan. I was looking for a piece of clothing that we could use that might help us find him before he gets sent back to us in a body bag!"

Her voice had risen to a shout, and abrupt silence fell as several people turned to stare at them.

"I think we'd better get moving," Mack said, eyeing the two of them piercingly before turning back to Deakins and the Search and Rescue teams. Deakins nodded, also shooting a threatening look in Bishop and Logan's direction before returning his attention to Trent. It was a look that had them both cringing, a look that warned he would take them to task sooner or later.

"I'll assign three officers and a CSI to each of your search teams. Is that satisfactory?"

Trent nodded.

"That's fine. We'll start one team inside the cabin, the second around the general perimeter, and the third over there at the spot where you found the blood last night. We'll see where that leads us, and then when the rest of the teams arrive we'll decide how to go about widening the search. Okay, let's go."

* * *

Deakins insisted on accompanying the search team that headed into the forest, refusing to be left behind at the cabin. Logan and Bishop also joined that group, along with Horatio Caine, Mack Taylor and Calleigh Duquesne. It was gone five o'clock in the morning as they followed the search team leader and the assigned dog into the trees, soon finding the place where Mack had found fresh blood the night before. There, they waited tensely as the dogs sniffed around, searching for a scent that was fresh enough to follow.

"Okay," the handler said as the dog finally pulled away in a particular direction, away from the cabin. "She's found something."

"Let's go, then," Deakins growled impatiently.

* * *

They moved at a fast pace through the trees, moving more or less in a straight line until, abruptly, the dog diverted off the side, and paused to sniff behind a large tree. Horatio moved in for a closer look, his sharp eyes quickly spotting what had drawn the attention of the canine.

"Blood," he announced, crouching down for a closer look. "I'd say they stopped here just briefly."

"So we're at least heading in the right direction," Deakins said grimly.

"So which way now?"

The question was answered when the dog suddenly whined aloud, turned and headed off through the trees again, almost at a run. The officers followed, with Horatio, Mack or Calleigh pausing here and there when they spotted blood.

They had travelled less than a mile when they broke out of the trees, and found themselves on the edge of a steep drop.

"Shit, look at that," Logan muttered, peering over the edge. It was at least a forty foot drop to a narrow body of flowing water far below, with many sharp looking rocks on the way down.

"Where did they go from here?" Horatio wondered aloud.

"Well," Logan said dryly as he peered across the formidable looking gap, "they sure as hell didn't jump."

When several pairs of eyes turned on him, he added quickly, "To the other side, I mean. It's gotta be at least thirty feet across there. No one could jump that. So they either went right or left, or they backtracked."

Horatio's question was finally answered when the dog whined again, and pulled off to the right to lead them along a narrow path.

"If they came along here in the dark, they would have been damned lucky not to have lost their footing and fallen," Mack said grimly, lookingcarefullyat the ground as they made their way along,searching for some visible evidence that Bobby and Alex had indeed come that way.

"Don't say that," Deakins said, his voice starting to sound strained. Mack spared Deakins a sympathetic look, but said nothing.

Towards the rear of the group, Bishop followed in silence, picking her way carefully along the edge of the drop behind Logan. She dared not look down, looking instead to the trees that lined the path on their right. Not that she was afraid of heights, but she was inclined to suffer mild vertigo, and she had no wish to set that off.

So it was that Bishop, the only one not looking down into the ravine or at the ground, spotted the arrow buried in the trunk of the tree.

"Captain!"

Deakins halted, and looked back at Bishop, impatience written all over his face.

"What is it, Bishop?"

"It's an arrow, sir," she answered grimly. "We're going the right way. Mathers must have chased them in this direction."

"But there's only two sets of footprints here that I can make out," Calleigh said. She had gone a little ahead, and was crouching on the ground to get a closer look. "Someone wearing shoes… And someone who was barefoot."

Horatio joined her, also looking closely.

"Only two sets of prints," he agreed after a long moment. "But three people. The barefoot impression is much deeper into the ground than the impression made by the person wearing shoes."

Deakins immediately understood what Horatio was saying.

"Goren was carrying Eames."

Horatio nodded. "He was carrying her."

"She's definitely hurt, then," Logan muttered. "That had to be her blood we saw on the ground."

Deakins looked to the handler.

"Let's keep moving."

* * *

They soon discovered they couldn't go much further. The path they were following soon vanished as they reached the same dead end that Bobby and Alex had come to the night before. They found themselves standing on a small pinnacle of ground that jutted out over the chasm below.

It was painfully obvious to all of them what had happened. The barefoot imprints on the soft ground led all the way to the very edge of the outcrop, and there was a distinct spatter of blood on the ground where both the footprints and the ground came to a very abrupt end.

"Oh no," Mack muttered.

"Please tell me they didn't go over," Deakins said softly, his heart and his hopes sinking. Calleigh moved as close to the edge as she dared, taking care to hold tightly to Horatio's hand should the ground give way beneath her. She peered over the edge, and got the confirmation that none of them wanted.

"There's blood," she called out grimly. "At least one of them went over. It looks like water directly below, so they could have survived the fall, but from this height… and with the injuries they might both already have…"

"It isn't likely," Deakins concluded, his face going grey as he fought to grasp the realisation that Bobby and Alex were probably already dead.

"Hey," Logan growled. "We aren't quitting until we know for sure. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm not giving up until I lay eyes on their bodies. Until that moment, as far as I'm concerned, they're both still alive."

"Logan's right," Mack said quietly. "We can't discount anything, Captain. Until we actually see…"

Mack trailed off as a new sound reached them, cutting harshly through the otherwise silent morning air. Eerily reminiscent of the night before, the echoes of a scream of pain floated up from somewhere distant down below, borne up to them on the early morning breeze. This time, though, it was not a female sound, but a distinctly male cry.

"Bobby," Deakins whispered, both stunned and horrified. "They're still alive…"

"One of them is, at least," Mack said. "And now we have a good idea of which direction to head in. We have to get down there, as soon as possible."

"Which way?" Deakins demanded of the Search team leader. The man indicated back over his shoulder.

"The quickest way will be to get back to the cabin, and catch a ride with one of the two choppers that are coming in. Otherwise it'll be a three hour hike to get down there."

"We don't have that sort of time to waste," Mack said grimly, and Horatio nodded in agreement.

"I think it's a fairly safe bet that if we could hear that, so could Erik Mathers."

"And he's probably a lot closer to them than we are," Logan surmised.

A new sound reached them, the faint sound of chopper blades beating the air from some distance away.

"C'mon," Deakins said tensely. "Everyone back to the cabin, now."

* * *

Bobby and Alex made their way in silence, each one concentrating on managing their own injuries, and helping each other when they could. Only when they eventually had to stop and rest did they finally speak, and only then in low voices. They each knew as well as the other that Mathers was most likely searching for them even then, and they had no idea how close or how far away he might be.

"Do you have any idea which direction we're going in?" Alex asked softly. Bobby shook his head reluctantly.

"Not really. I think we might be heading north, but I don't know for sure."

Alex fell silent, not saying what she felt like saying – that they could be wandering in circles for all they knew. Bobby regarded her with a small smile.

"We're not walking in circles. Don't worry about that. That's one thing I am sure of."

She looked at him, mildly irritated.

"What are you, psychic?"

He laughed softly. "No… I just know you too well. That was written all over your face."

She frowned half-heartedly at him.

"You probably don't know me half as well as you think you do, Robert Goren."

He raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Is that a challenge, Alexandra Eames?"

She smirked, then.

"If you want it to be."

"So what, we're going to start playing twenty questions?" he asked in amusement. She shrugged lopsidedly.

"I'll ask a question about myself, and if you get the answer right, then you can ask a question about yourself. But if you getmy questionwrong, I score a point, and I get to ask a second question. Same deal if I get your question wrong."

Bobby fought back the urge to laugh. This could prove interesting, and it might just provide them both with a welcome distraction from the severe pain they were both in.

"Okay. Ask away, Detective."

"What's my favourite colour?"

He did laugh at that.

"Easy. Red. What's mine?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Blue. Or turquoise, if you want to be technical."

He looked genuinely surprised, and she grinned wickedly at him.

"What's my favourite kind of music?"

"Rhythm and Blues," Bobby answered confidently. "Um…"

"What's the matter?" she asked in a saccharine sweet voice. "Can't think of something to ask about yourself?"

"What's my older brother's name?"

Alex rolled her eyes.

"Richard. Damn, Bobby, if you aren't going to challenge me…"

"How did you know his name is Richard?" Bobby asked, surprised. "I've never talked about him to you."

"For your information, you dope, your brother happens to be listed as your next of kin for the Department to contact if anything happens to you. Deakins had me check out any other family you had after he found out about your mom."

Bobby fell silent, staring intently at the ground. Alex watched him, feeling the first twinges of concern that perhaps she'd overstepped some invisible boundary.

"I didn't do it to pry, Bobby. We all have to have someone listed that can be contacted. You know that."

"It's okay," he mumbled, though he still wouldn't look at her. "It's just… I never really got along with him, and I haven't seen him since Dad's funeral."

"He never visits your mother?"

"No. He never could cope with her illness. He cleared out of home as soon as he had the chance. Got himself a sports scholarship to a college in another state, and never came home again."

Alex sighed faintly. "He got a scholarship, and a ticket out, and you got left to look after your mom."

"Pretty much."

"That sucks."

Bobby did look at her, then, a smile touching his lips at her frank assessment of the situation. She grinned back at him, and they both felt their spirits lift a little.

"Your turn," he told, a more genuine smile on his face.

"Okay… What's my favourite drink?"

Bobby started to reply, then stopped. A grin flickered across his face.

"I almost said margarita, but that's not right, is it?"

She merely smiled at him, saying nothing. Bobby hesitated, racking his brains for the right answer. Nearly a minute passed, and Alex was starting to think she'd scored one up on him, when his face lit up.

"I know. Champagne."

Alex shook her head in mock annoyance.

"Damn. Nearly had you with that one. Okay, smart guy. Your turn."

Bobby flashed her a wicked grin.

"What's my favourite book?"

She stared at him incredulously. "You mean you actually have one particular favourite?"

He grinned at her playfully.

"Sure. Are you saying you don't know what it is?"

Alex frowned, mulling over the question in her mind. Finally she groaned, and threw out the first title she could think of.

"Oh, I don't know. Winnie the Pooh?"

She looked back at him, positive she was wrong, only to find him staring at her in total disbelief.

"You mean… That _is_ your favourite book? Are you serious?"

His cheeks had gone noticeably red, she thought in amusement.

"I always liked it because there was nothing more to it than what was on the surface… It's just a simple story, that's all."

Alex nodded, suddenly understanding.

"It's something that doesn't need analysing. Is that it?"

He looked positively sheepish.

"Yeah."

Alex smiled faintly, deciding to store that little gem away for later use.

"Okay. I admit that was just a guess, but I still got it right, so it's my turn. Um… Let me think…"

Bobby was about to throw a teasing comment at her when a new sound reached their ears. They both looked up at the same time, caught by surprise by the unexpected sound.

"Is that what I think it is…?" Alex asked softly, hardly daring to hope. Bobby got unsteadily to his feet, shuddering a little as fresh pain surged through his legs.

"A helicopter. It's a helicopter."

"You think they might be looking for us?" she asked.

"God, I hope so," Bobby muttered. "Come on, Alex. We have to get moving. If it is a search chopper, they'll never spot us here."

She got up, leaning heavily on the stick for support.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *


	13. Sliding Hopes

_Author's note: Thanks to all who have been submitting reviews. It does actually help to know that your story is being enjoyed by others. LOL Wouldn't be worth putting them up for public viewing otherwise, would it?_

_It is also the reason that updates have been happening fairly regularly. If things start to slow down a little from this point on, though, please be patient. It is only because I do not want to rush through this story and spoil it simply for the sake of finishing it as quickly as possible._

* * *

"I wish we knew where we were," Alex muttered breathlessly as they struggled up a gradual uphill slope. "It'd make this just that much easier."

"Just keep going straight," Bobby told her, sounding equally breathless. "We need to keep heading upwards… Get to a higher point… where we can be seen."

"And hope Mathers doesn't see us, too," she added, hating herself for it but knowing it had to be said.

"Gotta take that chance," Bobby said. "Don't… Don't know if that chopper is… is for us… or not… If it isn't… this might be our… our only chance."

She didn't like the way his breath was coming in laboured gasps and, purely out of concern, stopped and looked back at him. It proved to be a deadly mistake. Bobby, focused intently on the ground in front of him as he shuffled forward, didn't realise she'd stopped. He walked straight into her, causing them both to lose their already precarious sense of balance and sending them both over in a painful tangle of arms and legs.

They skidded back down the slope together, sliding helplessly on the loose dirt and gravel, and were brought to a painful halt at the bottom by the thick trunk of a tall tree.

Alex was unable to stifle a howl of pain as she felt another bone in her already badly broken left arm snap. Her cry mixed with Bobby's as he, too, cried out in agony.

Neither one of them moved for a good three or four minutes, both slowly recovering from the shock and pain of the fall and the subsequent jarring stop. Then, slowly, Bobby shifted a little.

"Alex…? You okay…?"

His voice came out as little more than a strained whisper, followed by a pained cough.

"My arm…" she said, her voice muffled from where her face had somehow ended up mashed against the trunk of the tree.

"Hang on…" he mumbled, and proceeded to try and disentangle himself from her. It took nearly five minutes of careful, exhaustive manoeuvring, but he eventually succeeded, finally collapsing flat on his back on the ground next to her. His white face was layered with sweat from his efforts, and his breath came in wheezing puffs. Alex slowly pushed herself away from the tree, and crawled over to him, slumping to the ground beside him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

"Not your fault," he mumbled. "Just… Just an accident…"

Her sense of guilt would not be so easily assuaged, though.

"We hardly need accidents on top of everything else," she said miserably. "I shouldn't have stopped. I just didn't realise you were so close behind me."

Bobby stared up towards the sky, past the treetops.

"It's gone. I can't hear it anymore."

She knew he meant the chopper, and felt her stomach turn. He was right. The sound of the chopper had vanished. Before she knew it, she'd burst into a fresh flood of tears as her hopes faded once more.

Bobby pushed himself up slowly, cringing at the renewed pain in his leg. In all honesty, he felt like crying too, but it was with considerable effort that he held back his own tears. Taking extreme care, he gently helped her to sit up, and then slipped his arms around her in a warm hug.

"Let it out," he murmured, shutting his eyes as he took what comfort he could from holding her to him. She sobbed into his shoulder, overcome by the pain, the stress and the despair.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" she choked out, her voice muffled by his broad shoulder.

He didn't answer that. As desperately as he wanted to tell her no, he couldn't. There was no way he could guarantee that they wouldn't die, so he had no intention of raising false hopes, in either her or himself. Instead, he tried a different tact.

"I'm going to ask you something that you asked me yesterday," he murmured. "Tell me honestly, Alex… Are you ready to quit?"

Slowly but surely, she grew quiet in his arms. For nearly five minutes they sat holding each other in silence. Then, finally, she drew slowly back from him.

"No. I'm not. I'm sorry, Bobby…"

"Quit apologising," he ordered her. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. Neither do I. So let's both just stop saying sorry. Okay?"

She nodded wordlessly, and he smiled his approval.

"Good. Now, can you get up?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "I think so. What about you?"

In answer, he reached for his makeshift crutch, and slowly dragged himself to his feet, shuddering in pain as he was forced to lean nearly all his weight on the stick. Alex winced as she noticed the splint he'd fashioned for himself had cracked. He saw the look on her face, and offered her a crooked smile as he shed the damaged piece of wood.

"It's okay. It's just the wood. There's no worse damage done than that." He paused, eyeing her face with concern. "Can't say the same for you, though."

Alex rubbed one hand lightly over her face, and it came away smeared with blood.

"Crap," she muttered. "I hate the sight of blood."

Bobby grinned, then laughed.

"C'mon. Let's try and find some water, see if we can't clean ourselves up a little. And I could really use a drink."

"Me too," Alex agreed wearily as she followed him back in the direction of the river. "But I guess water will do just as well."

* * *

"Tell me something," Alex said a short while later as they sat on the riverbank, concealed in the shadows of a couple of enormous Oaks. "Are you as hungry as I am?" 

Bobby grimaced. He had been trying damned hard, albeit with little success, to keep his mind off that particular subject.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I am. It must be at least four days since we last ate anything."

Alex stared miserably into the water.

"We stopped for breakfast on our way out to Ray Mathers' warehouse. I tell you, Bobby, if I'd known it was going to be our proverbial last meal, I would've said to hell with it, and just had the damn pancakes."

Bobby smiled faintly. He appreciated her humour, but wished the subject was anything but food.

"When we get home, Alex, I'll treat you to all the pancakes you want."

"Mm. With syrup, and ice cream, and strawberries…" She groaned aloud. "Oh man, I've gotta stop thinking about food. Right now, I'd even go for raw fish, if I thought I could catch one."

"And you swore you'd never eat sushi or sashimi," Bobby teased. She grinned and shrugged.

"What can I say? Desperate times…"

Bobby scooped up a few more mouthfuls of water, then settled back on the grassy bank. His head was starting to spin unpleasantly and his skin felt hot and clammy, though he dared not say so to Alex.

"It's your turn, you know."

She looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"Our game. Your turn to ask a question. And if you ask about anything to do with food, I'll throttle you."

Alex laughed.

"Okay. Um… Oh, I know. Who's my favourite actor?"

Bobby looked at her with a slightly narrowed gaze. To Alex it appeared a quizzical look, but the truth was that his vision was starting to blur just a little.

"Didn't know you had one."

Alex was positively crowing at that.

"Score one to me! That's something you don't know about me. I get to ask another question, now."

Bobby chuckled. "Fine. Are you going to tell me, though, or just let me sweat it out?"

"Oh, I thought I'd just let you sweat it out."

"Alex…"

"Okay," she laughed. "It's George Clooney."

"Since when?"

"Since I saw him in Ocean's 11."

"Hmm. Thought you would have been more of a Brad Pitt kind of girl."

Alex snorted derisively.

"Please. At least George Clooney can act. How much skill can it take to put on a skirt and go running around with a sword, killing people?"

Bobby drew in a slow breath. He was starting to find it hard to focus on what Alex was saying, his head was spinning badly now and he felt hot, so damned hot… He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate and give a coherent answer.

"I take it you're referring to 'Troy'?"

"What else?"

"May I remind you that your preferred choice scored one of his probably astronomical pay checks by dressing up as a bat?"

Alex rolled her eyes. "I'm not even going to try justifying that one. Now shut up. I get to ask something else."

"Ask away."

"Let me think… Okay. Where was I assigned _before_ I joined Vice?"

Silence met her question. Alex waited a couple of minutes, and was about to throw a teasing comment at him when he finally spoke, his voice no more than a disjointed mumble.

"Clean up… Gotta get cleaned up… before Dad comes home…"

Alex looked at him, confused.

"What are you talking…" She trailed off, gasping a little in fright as she got a good look at her partner. He lay on the grass, his face and upper body layered in sweat, and his eyes were bright with fever. Right at that moment, he didn't even seem to be aware of her presence, but rather caught up in some mild delirium. Instinctively, she reached out to gently touch his face.

"You're burning up," she whispered in dismay. "Bobby, look at me. _Look_ _at me_."

Slowly, with obvious difficulty, he looked, and his gaze focused on her.

"Listen to me," she said in as steady a voice as she could manage. "Bobby, you're sick. You have a fever. I don't know what to do. You have to tell me what to do."

Slowly, unsteadily, he grasped her hand.

"Nothing you can do," he whispered, clearly fighting to stay lucid. "I'll be… okay…"

"Bullshit," she growled. He shuddered a little.

"It's the… the poison."

Alex felt an icy chill rush through her.

"Poison? What poison?"

"The spikes," he mumbled. "I think it's the spikes."

"Oh god… Bobby, they have to come out!"

He shut his eyes tightly, struggling to regain some clarity in his thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, they were noticeably clearer. With considerable effort, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and spoke with deliberate slowness.

"You'd have to cut my shoulder right open. We don't have means to do that. I think it'll be okay… It's probably the same poison that was in… in the bodies of the other victims. Not enough to… to kill them. Just…. slow them down."

"Great," Alex muttered. "Like we're not far enough up shit creek as it is."

Bobby drew in a long, controlled breath, and even as Alex watched, some clarity returned to his eyes.

"You have some incredible willpower, you know that?" she told him softly. He smiled weakly.

"Mind over matter. But just ignore me if I start rambling."

"Are you kidding? I'll be saving it up for blackmail later on."

He started to laugh softly, only to have it turn into a violent shudder.

"Hang on," Alex murmured. Before Bobby could even begin to protest, she tore away her remaining pants leg, leaving her wearing only a ragged pair of shorts, like him. She then tore the material in half, and then half again, took one quarter and soaked it in the water. She then pressed the damp material to his hot face in an effort to cool him down.

"Thanks," he mumbled. Alex looked around anxiously as she desperately tried to help her fever-stricken partner. It would be typical, and cruelly ironic, if Mathers were to suddenly turn up now. What was cruellest of all, though, was the realisation that the helicopter they had heard earlier had most likely been a chance occurrence. There was no one looking for them… At least, not here, not in these mountains. And, even if there were, their chances of reaching higher ground now, where they might be able to signal for help, had gone from slim to remote.

Bobby pushed her hand away gently.

"I think I'll be okay," he mumbled. "We'd better get moving again."

She looked at him worriedly. As much as she knew he was right, she was seriously starting to doubt his ability to make it any significant distance. He would not be dissuaded, though, and despite her misgivings she made no protest as he once more got painfully to his feet. She followed suit, wondering dimly when… or if… this nightmare would ever end.

He favoured her then with a gentle smile that belied the obvious pain he was in.

"Ready?"

She wanted to scream at him, say that she wasn't ready. Instead, she nodded numbly.

"Which way?" she asked, deciding to leave that decision entirely to him. He indicated the direction they'd been heading in before they'd fallen.

"That way."

* * *

Mike Logan stood silently, looking at the scene before him critically. It was shortly past noon when they had stumbled onto this little clearing near the river and, so far, was the surest sign that both Goren and Eames were still alive. Now, Mack Taylor, Horatio Caine and Calleigh Duquesne were scouring the area for any useful evidence. 

Logan frowned to himself. Screw the evidence. The blood and the torn clothing they'd already found was enough evidence for him. As far as he was concerned, they should be setting the dogs loose to find Goren and Eames, hopefully before that fucked up little psycho Erik Mathers.

"Hey, Logan, check this out."

He walked around the perimeter of the site to where Bishop was standing.

"What is it?"

"Look at that. What do you make of that?"

He looked down at where she was pointing to, and finally saw what had drawn her attention. There were tracks in the dirt, tracks very obviously made by bare feet, but also heavy imprints of what Logan figured could be some sort of stick. The prints were pretty well mixed up, making them almost impossible to discern accurately, but Logan was fairly sure what it meant regardless.

"Did you two find something?"

They looked to find Deakins had joined them. He looked exhausted, Logan thought, though he dared not voice that opinion.

"These prints," Logan said. "Bishop found them. It looks like either Goren or Eames were leaning on a stick, or something. Maybe one of them was hit in the leg by one of those arrows."

"And maybe one of them broke a leg in that fall they took," Deakins said grimly.

"Whatever happened, we know which way they went," Bishop said impatiently. "We should just get moving. Why bother with all of this, anyway?"

"I'll tell you why," Mack said grimly as he joined them. "We aren't the first ones to have found this site today, and I'm not talking about Goren and Eames. Someone else was here, not too long ago."

"Mathers," Deakins muttered, and Mack nodded.

"More than likely. So before you go charging off into the trees, you might want to consider just who we're likely to run into first."

"If we run into Mathers, then so be it," Deakins said grimly. "This has gone on long enough. If he gets to Goren and Eames before we do…"

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to state the obvious. Horatio joined them, and spoke in his perennially quiet, but authoritative voice.

"We need to find this guy, Mack. We need to find him, and take him out, if necessary. Those detectives somehow managed to survive one night out here, but I don't like their chances of surviving another one. We have to find them _today_."

Mack looked around at the group, wondering just how the responsibility for making a decision like this had been passed to him. He reached subconsciously for his gun, and was reassured by the feel of it pressing in under his shoulder. The thing was, he knew in his gut that Horatio was right. Goren and Eames were probably already suffering from exposure and possible hypothermia, alongside whatever other injuries they had. Mack grimaced. After falling from such a height the night before, it was a miracle they were even still alive, but if they hadn't suffered any broken bones from it, then Mack would eat his beanie.

So on one hand they had two people, both hurt and probably getting sicker as the hours passed. On the other hand, they had a psychotic killer intent on hunting those two people down to kill them.

Calleigh joined the group. "I just tested the blood on those two arrows. One lot is female, the other is male. They were each hit by an arrow."

Mack almost cringed under the force of the looks from the others. Those looks all said exactly the same thing: it was time for the gloves to come off, and to go on the attack.

"Okay," he agreed finally. "Let's find the son of a bitch and take him out."


	14. On The Right Path

_Author's note: This part would have been longer, but I have some parts of the next section that need rewriting. Please bear with me, and trust me when I promise that a newchapter **will** be coming fairly quickly after this one._

* * *

Over the years I've learnt one important thing,  
_It's that real friends shall never truly be apart;  
__You were there in my darkest time of need  
__With a hand reaching straight to the heart.  
_  
'_Straight to the Heart' by __Michael W. Smith_

* * *

"What time is it?" 

Bobby glanced sideways at Alex. They had virtually come full circle, so to speak, and were once again struggling their way up the slope, towards higher ground. He was holding to the belief… or rather, the hope that the chopper had been searching for them, and that it hadn't been a once off fly-by. This time, though, rather than going up the slope single file, they hobbled along side by side. Though neither had said it out loud, they both had the same thought. At least if they went side by side, if one fell, they wouldn't take the other with them.

"Forgot my watch. Sorry."

"Smart ass."

Bobby smiled a little, then slowed to a halt and peered up at the sky.

"I think it might be just a little after one… or maybe closer to two. I can't really tell through the trees. Does it really matter that much?"

Alex grimaced. "It does if we have to spend another night out here. We barely got through last night, Bobby, and I think that was only because Mathers quit hunting us after we took a freefall off that ledge. He's not going to give us that sort of consideration again."

Bobby shook his head, only to regret the action as it stirred up a familiar, unwanted ache in his skull.

"Some consideration."

She sighed a little. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," he muttered. "I know." He paused, his gaze going to a flat rock that he had just come level with. "Hang on, Alex. I need to stop… Just for a few minutes."

He edged his way over to the rock and sat down without waiting for her to answer. She made her way over, and sat down beside him, taking similar relief in the brief respite.

"How are you feeling?" she asked once she'd caught her breath. He looked directly at her as he answered; wanting her to know he was being honest with her.

"Not great… but not bad, either… considering."

She smiled.

"I'd say that's a pretty accurate description for both of us right now. You sure you're okay, though?"

"I won't say I'm okay," he murmured, "but I think I can manage. That's the best I can do."

"I can accept that," she agreed. Her gaze went down to her injured leg. Though it had not bled again, the pain was starting to push her to the very limit of her endurance. She wasn't game enough to look so she could be certain, but she suspected the wound was becoming infected. A telltale sign was the bruise-like colouring that was slowly spreading beyond the makeshift bandage.

Anxious to take her mind off her own injuries, her gaze went to Bobby's legs. She really didn't like the way his left ankle had swollen up so much, but considering just how badly his right leg was broken, she could see no point in voicing her concerns. She could only hope that his ankle was only badly jarred or, at the very worst, twisted from their earlier fall.

"How's your arm?" he asked, bringing her rather abruptly back to reality. She shifted her position on the rock, and winced at the pain the movement caused.

"I think I might have busted it up even worse in that fall," she admitted. "Serves me right, it was my own stupid fault."

He took her right hand in his, holding it gently.

"Don't say that."

She leaned carefully against him, resting her head against his shoulder, silently and acutely conscious of the fever-generated heat that still radiated from his body. He was holding up well, considering he had a fever that had already sent him once into a state of delirium, and she had to wonder just how much longer he was going to be able to stay lucid.

She shut her eyes, pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, and trying instead to just take comfort in the close contact. She couldn't help but wonder, if they got out of this mess alive, would this closeness continue, or would their relationship revert back to what it had been before? Professional, incidental contact only…

His hand closed around hers, squeezing affectionately, and she felt his cheek rest gently against the top of her head. Neither of them spoke. It wasn't necessary, and words would have spoiled the moment.

Then it was past, and Bobby gently drew back from her.

"Ready to keep going?"

She smiled a little. Ever the gentleman…

"Yeah."

* * *

The search team ploughed through the dense foliage with new purpose, travelling for the most part in silence. They almost had no need of the dog. The trail left by Goren and Eames was painfully obvious to all of them. Their greatest worry was the fact that a second trail was also visible. Someone else was hot on the detectives' trail. Someone by the name of Erik Mathers; and while Mack figured that the two lost detectives were perhaps an hour and half to two hours ahead of them, he also figured that Mathers couldn't be any more than maybe an hour or so behind Goren and Eames. 

It was a fairly reasonable assumption at this point that Goren and Eames were both badly hurt, and that Erik Mathers was probably at full strength and moving at full speed. The stakes had just gone up considerably, and Mack knew without any doubt that if they did not find the detectives now, they wouldn't find them at all. Not alive.

The dog had halted up ahead, and appeared confused.

"What's wrong?" Deakins asked, visibly agitated.

"The scent goes in two different directions," the Rescue officer explained, "and so do the tracks. Look, one set seems to head up that incline, and the other heads in that direction, towards the river."

"So which way do we go?" Bishop asked. Mack frowned.

"We know at least one of them is using a stick to walk with. One of them was either shot in the leg by one of those arrows we found, or maybe has a broken leg. Either way, I can't see them being able to make it up any sort of hill."

"Are you suggesting that maybe they split up?" Calleigh asked, frowning.

"I don't believe they would have split up," Bishop chimed in. "Especially not if one of them is seriously hurt. They're too close for either of them to be willing to leave the other."

"Bishop's right," Logan agreed. "No way would Goren abandon Eames. And she wouldn't leave Goren, either."

"So which track do we follow?" Horatio asked of no one in particular. "If we choose the wrong one…"

"It could be catastrophic for Goren and Eames," Deakins concluded grimly. "Okay, we're going to have to split up. It's too big a risk to just pick one trail to follow. Mack, you and Bishop go with these guys from the Rescue team and head towards the river. Logan, Horatio, Calleigh and I will go up. Keep your radios on, and stay alert. The moment any of us gets any sort of confirmation that we're going the right way, let the others know straight away. Let's move!"

* * *

It took nearly another hour and several more short rests before they finally found themselves on level ground again. As Bobby had hoped, they had come into a large clearing; perhaps not large enough for a chopper to land but certainly big enough that they would be seen if and when one flew overhead. The only danger, and it was a big one, was that Erik Mathers would find them first. 

Exhausted, Bobby sank to the ground, almost literally unable to go any further. Alex sat beside him, abandoning her walking stick and collapsing wearily against him.

"You hear that?" she asked, and he nodded. He heard it. As yet unseen, but in the distance they could both hear the distinct sound of a helicopter.

"We'll be home in time for dinner," he mumbled.

"Mm," Alex murmured. "I'm having steak, and a really big plate of mash potato. What are you having?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Anything, as long as it's hot and cooked."

She grinned, and couldn't resist teasing him.

"You mean you're passing up on the sushi? Shame…"

"Shut up," he grouched, and she laughed and got slowly back to her feet.

"I know. Veal Parmigiana for you, right?"

"Alex, stop, please," he begged her. "You're just making it worse."

She smirked at him.

"Fine. You wanna talk about something else? I'm still one up with our game, and you never answered my last question."

"That shouldn't count," Bobby growled. "I was delirious."

"So answer it now," she told him as she sat back down on the grass across the way from him, stretching her legs gingerly out in front of her, and leaning back against a thick tree trunk.

"What was the question again?"

"Where was I assigned before I joined Vice?"

Bobby stared at the sky, mulling it over in his mind. He was glad they were off the 'my favourite things' kick, but this was a tough one. Alex rarely talked about her time in Vice, let alone anything prior to that. All the same, his usually sharp memory seemed to recall her mentioning something some time ago. But what…?

"Ready to give up?" she teased, getting ready to crow again.

"Not yet. Give me a chance."

Alex smirked. She loved seeing Bobby confounded, and faced with questions he couldn't immediately answer. He looked like a flustered little boy.

"I know!" he burst out suddenly. "You were in Robbery. You were only there for eight months, after transferring out of Traffic, while you waited for an opening in Vice."

"Damn," Alex grumped. "That was a good one, too. Okay, your turn."

A grin lit up his pale face.

"How many languages am I fluent in?"

Alex grimaced.

"Boy, I should've seen one like that coming. Okay… I know you're fluent in German, and Russian… Um… You can read some Arabic, but you said yourself that you aren't fluent in it… Same with Chinese… Okay, I'll take a wild stab and say three."

Bobby stared at her curiously.

"You know I'm fluent in German and Russian, but not in Arabic or Chinese. How do you make it three?"

She smiled sweetly at him.

"Are you saying you're not fluent in English?"

The stunned and confused look on his face was more than enough to reduce her to a fit of laughter. Only when she'd calmed down some was she able to explain.

"You asked me what languages you're fluent in, Bobby. You didn't specify foreign languages, so I said three. German, Russian and English."

He laughed, then, clearly impressed.

"I'll let you have that one just for ingenuity."

"So what else are you fluent in?" she asked bemusedly.

"Italian. Not by choice, though. My family is of Italian descent. My dad spoke Italian to me all the time. He said he wanted to be sure that I spoke it as well as English. I think it was pretty much the only practical thing he ever taught me."

"I should've known," Alex said. "You sure you don't want to claim that one?"

Bobby chuckled.

"I'm sure. You earned that one. Go ahead, ask something."

"Okay. Since we're on the subject of languages, how many languages am _I _fluent in? And I mean _foreign_ languages when I say that."

Bobby stared at her, genuinely surprised.

"I didn't know you spoke a foreign language. You got me there. What languages do you know?"

"Spanish, and Japanese. I learnt Spanish from Puerto Rican friends I had as a kid, and I studied Japanese in school. And yes, I am fluent in both."

"I'm impressed. That's two you have on me, now."

She smirked at him. "Don't know quite as much about me as you thought, do you?"

He smiled as he lay down on the grass.

"I know enough. I know you're the best friend I have, and I know I can trust you with my life. I don't need to know anything more than that."

Alex bit down lightly on her lower lip at his frank admission. She knew that while he had plenty of casual friends, he was not especially close to most of them, with the possible exception of his car enthusiast buddy, Lewis. For him to openly admit that he considered her to be his best friend touched her to the heart.

The arrow came almost out of nowhere, whistling through the air, spearing Alex through the stomach and impaling her to the tree against which she had been sitting. She grasped helplessly at the protruding part of the arrow, even as blood began to trickle from her mouth, and her eyes began to glaze over.

Bobby started up in shock and horror, but before he had a chance to drag himself up off the ground, Erik Mathers strode out from the shelter of the trees. He ran across the ground and delivered a brutal kick from his steel-tipped boot to Bobby's left arm, breaking both the radius and the ulna bones.

Bobby slumped back to the ground, clutching his arm to his chest in agony. Mathers sneered down at him, crossbow reloaded and at the ready.

"I don't know whether to be disappointed or not, Detective. I really hoped you might have lasted the full time, but I have to admit you gave me a pretty good run for my money anyway." He looked across at Alex, who by then was slumped forward, and not moving. "Both of you did. But it's game over, now." He crouched down next to Bobby, pushing the sharp tip of the arrow that was loaded in his crossbow against Bobby's throat. "And you… I have to ask this. Just how the hell did you manage to make it all the way up here with two broken legs?"

Bobby drew in a strangled breath, wincing as he felt the tip of the arrow pierce the flesh of his throat. His confusion at Mathers' question was obvious, and Mathers laughed cruelly at the sight of it. He reached down and slapped Bobby hard on the left leg, below the knee. Pain exploded through his leg, causing Bobby to howl in anguish. Mathers laughed again.

"You see, Detective Goren? You didn't even realise you had two busted legs, did you? I guess your right leg probably hurts so bad you never even gave a thought to the other leg. You really are something, you know that? I'm almost sorry that I have to kill you."

Bobby tried to shut out Mathers' voice, looking instead to where Alex sat slumped over, blood spreading rapidly across her tank top. A pain more profound than any physical agony he'd suffered so far cut deep into his very heart and soul at the sight of her impaled to the tree. He didn't know if she was even still alive, but to lie on the ground and do nothing but wait for Mathers to strike the final blow was, in his mind, unforgivable.

Mathers grunted in surprise as Bobby, in a moment of pure adrenalin-fuelled fury, swung at him with his one remaining good limb, and struck him hard across the face. The killer went over backwards, and Bobby was on top of him an instant later, the combined torture of all his injuries momentarily forgotten.

Bobby managed to slip his right hand around Mathers' throat and squeezed hard, determined to end it once and for all. However, after four days of no food, only a minimal amount of water and suffering horrendous injuries, his strength was only a fraction of what it would normally have been.

Mathers grabbed at Bobby's wrist, pushing it away from his throat, and twisting it sharply. Bobby cried out in pain, and his body rolled off Mathers instinctively to prevent another broken bone. Mathers quickly reassumed control, one knee planted squarely in the centre of Bobby's bare chest as he snatched the crossbow off the ground where he had dropped it. Then, without hesitating, he fired the arrow directly into Bobby's right shoulder.

"Nice try, Detective Goren," Mathers said, sounding more amused than angry. He looked away, spitting blood out onto the grass. "You and your pretty partner have shown more guts than any of my other prey. I know this probably isn't much of a consolation to you, but I consider it a huge honour that I'll get to be the one who ends your life. I mean, I bet there're heaps of people out there who'd give up vital parts of their anatomy for that honour."

Mathers paused, eyeing Bobby thoughtfully, and then took hold of the arrow that protruded from Bobby's shoulder and gave it a vicious twist. Bobby could do little more than sob in pain, his strength almost completely gone.

"Tell me, Detective Goren," Mathers whispered to him. "How would you like to die? Will I cut your throat? Or maybe put one of my arrows straight through your heart? What do you think? Have you suffered enough? Are you ready to die?"

Bobby couldn't have answered even if he had wanted to. As it turned out, he never had the opportunity. Mathers looked away from him suddenly, his gleeful expression melting into one of anger and suspicion.

"What the fuck…?"

A moment later, Mathers' knee was gone from his chest, and the younger man was hurrying away towards the trees, crossbow at the ready. Bobby watched him go, not understanding what could have caused him to go so suddenly, but grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. He looked back to Alex through eyes that were slowly starting to dim. He didn't think the arrow had hit an artery, but he'd suffered so much blood loss already that he doubted he would last too much longer.

Scraping together what little strength he had left, Bobby dragged himself across the ground to his partner.

"Alex…"

She didn't respond, just as he'd known she wouldn't. Tears brimmed in his eyes and overflowed as he reached out with trembling fingers to touch her cold, pale face, stroking her cheek lovingly.

"No… Alex, no…"

Grief descended on him like a tidal wave, followed by a rage unlike any he had ever known. In that moment, he accepted his coming death, almost looked forward to it with the hope that it would reunite him with the one person who had ever truly understood and accepted him. He had no intention, though, of simply giving up. If he was going to die, he was damn well going to take Erik Mathers with him.

Bobby leaned in, and kissed Alex tenderly on the forehead, and then on the lips.

"Have to leave you now," he whispered through his tears. "You don't have to be afraid, he can't hurt you anymore." He drew in an unsteady breath. "I'll see you soon."

Then, with a last stricken look at her, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled away, into the trees.

* * *


	15. Race Against Time

_Author's note: I don't have a particularly thorough knowledge of medical procedure, so I apologise in advance for any liberties taken. In my case, it'll have to be chalked up to poetic license._

_And no – this is **NOT**_ the last chapter.

* * *

Deakins, Logan, Horatio and Calleigh made their way up the rocky slope in silence, following a trail that was becoming clearer with every step they took. They'd been hiking for nearly half an hour when Deakins' radio crackled to life. 

"_Captain, come in, this is Mack_."

"Mack, have you got good news?" Deakins asked breathlessly.

"_Sorry, Captain. It's a dead end this way. Near as we can tell, they came to the river, and then backtracked. Looks like you're on the right path. We're coming up after you now_."

Deakins looked at his three companions grimly.

"We can't wait for you, Mack," he told the detective. "Just get up here as fast as you can."

"_Roger that_."

Deakins clipped the radio back onto his belt, then looked around at Logan, Horatio and Calleigh.

"We have to keep going. If we wait…"

"We can't wait," Logan said grimly. "You're right, we can't wait. We have to keep going."

"We must be nearly at the top," Calleigh guessed. Horatio's hand went to his gun, and loosed the flap for easy and quick access.

"Okay, let's get up there."

They pressed on, heavy breathing from their efforts the only sounds to be heard. They seemed to be almost coming within sight of the top when a loud whistling sound cut through the air.

"What the…"

It was all Logan had a chance to say as an arrow sliced through the air and pierced his right forearm. A cry of pain tore from his lips, and he stumbled and fell. He was stopped from sliding further down the slope only by Horatio, who jumped to his aid, grabbing him by the left arm and bringing him to a halt.

"Oh my god," Calleigh whispered in horror as they stared at the arrow embedded in his arm.

"You gotta keep going," Logan rasped, an edge of panic to his voice.

"Just hold still, Logan," Horatio said grimly. "We need to get this out."

"No, you gotta keep going," he told them again. "We must be close… Mathers… He must be trying to stall us. You've gotta get up there now!"

"You both go," Calleigh told Deakins and Horatio. "I'll stay with Logan."

He pushed her away, though.

"No! Damn it… I'll be okay. The others'll be here soon enough. Get up there… Save Goren and Eames."

Deakins stared desperately at Logan. The detective returned his stare easily, despite the pain he was in.

"This is not a fatal wound," he said in a deliberately slow voice. "You're wasting time. Go stop Erik Mathers."

Horatio pulled his radio out, and spoke into quickly.

"Mack, this is Horatio. Don't answer, just listen. There's no time. Logan's been wounded. He'll be waiting on the path for you when you come up. Captain Deakins, Calleigh and I are going on. We think Mathers is close by. Hurry."

Deakins nodded and, favouring Logan with a look of open respect, turned and headed on up the path, with Horatio and Calleigh right behind him.

* * *

Erik Mathers stepped back out into the clearing, feeling smug and pleased with himself. He knew that shooting that other detective would not slow those cops down for long, but he didn't need long. Detective Eames was dead, Detective Goren was as good as dead. It wasn't going to be the slow, tortuous death he'd planned on inflicting, but he figured he'd had a good run. It was time to end it, and do a disappearing act. Slit the cop's throat, and bolt. Game over. 

Mathers froze. Detective Eames was where he had left her, still impaled to the tree by the arrow through her stomach, but Detective Goren was gone.

The first slivers of panic began to penetrate Mathers' senses. The cop shouldn't have had the strength left to roll over, let alone get up and walk away. _Where was he?_

Then he saw it. A thin trail of blood led away from the female cop's body, across the grass, and into the trees on the other side of the clearing. An evil smile lit up Mathers' face. If the cop was trying to escape, he'd just made his last mistake. That direction led nowhere except to a cliff.

Still grinning, Mathers checked that his crossbow was good to go, and then ran across the grass and into the trees after his prey.

* * *

Bobby made it half way down the gently sloping ground before his strength gave out and he fell, sliding painfully the rest of the distance to where the ground flattened out, then dropped away abruptly in a vertical decline. He lay on his back near the edge of the precipice, his energy almost totally gone, his breath coming in painful gasps, his vision hopelessly blurred. He made no effort to hide. He wanted Mathers to think he was an easy target. 

A strained, barely audible laugh escaped him. He _was_ an easy target. He was only hoping that he would find some last ounce of strength somewhere inside him to take Mathers with him when he died. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Erik Mathers' life for his and Alex's lives.

Slowly, Bobby reached up with his one remaining functioning hand, and curled it around the shaft of the arrow buried in his shoulder. Breathing as evenly as he could, and praying the shock and pain wouldn't knock him out… or worse, kill him, Bobby pulled.

The arrow slid out after some resistance, and left his shoulder feeling as though it was on fire. Moaning softly, he hid the weapon at his side and waited.

Minutes passed before a shadow finally fell across him. Bobby didn't bother opening his eyes to look. He knew who it was. It was confirmed a moment later when Mathers' boot kicked hard into his ribs, cracking at least two of them.

"You really don't know when your number's up, do you Detective?" Mathers asked in amusement. "Why didn't you just stay where you were? All you achieved for yourself was more pain."

Mathers stared at Bobby thoughtfully, then knelt down next to him.

"I really want this to be something special. Not just an ordinary killing. Too bad I don't have the time to do this the way I wanted to, but I'm still going to make it special. What do you think, Detective Goren?" He waved the crossbow in the air. "Through the heart, or through the head? I think it'd really be saying something to put an arrow through your head. Don't you? It'd be like saying that you were the smartest the NYPD had to offer, and it still wasn't good enough to beat me. You like that? I think that's the way I'll do it."

"Do I…" Bobby started to speak, but it ended in a painful cough. Mathers leaned in closer.

"What's that?"

"Do I get… a last… request…?"

Mathers regarded Bobby with interest.

"What would you ask for, Detective? I'm already giving you a quick death."

Bobby looked up at Mathers, then, his now cloudy eyes reflecting the pain, anguish and rage he was feeling.

"That you die with me."

He swung the arrow around, driving it into Mathers' gut with every last ounce of strength and willpower that he had left. Mathers' eyes went wide with pain and he grabbed at the arrow in shock. He fell away from Bobby, his attention momentarily diverted to the unexpected wound, and he pulled the arrow out of his gut, groaning in pain.

Where he lay on the ground, Bobby could only watch as Mathers struggled with the arrow. That was it, his strength was gone. He had nothing left at all.

Slowly, Mathers recovered from the shock of the wound and his black eyes filled with pain and hatred as he focused on Bobby once more. Getting slowly to his feet, Mathers lifted his crossbow, and aimed it directly at Bobby's head.

"See you in Hell, you fucking pig."

* * *

Deakins broke out into the clearing first, his sharp gaze going straight to the diminutive figure that sat slumped against the tree. 

"Eames," he choked out. "No…"

He ran across the grass, falling to his knees beside Alex's still form, and reaching out to touch her face gently. Cold, she was so cold…

Deakins turned away as Horatio and Calleigh arrived, blinded by the tears in his eyes.

"Too late… Damn it, we're too late." Then something struck him. "Where is Goren…?"

His gaze dropped to the ground, and he saw the trail of blood leading away into the trees. Deakins drew in a sharp breath. It was too late for Alex, but was it also too late for Bobby? Drawing his gun, Deakins strode away across the grass, leaving Horatio and Calleigh with Alex.

"Horatio?" Calleigh asked anxiously. Horatio glanced at Deakins' retreating figure, then turned his attention back to Alex. Instinctively, he reached out and pressed his fingers gently to her throat. Long moments later, he found what he had not expected to find.

"She's alive," he said tensely, unable to keep his voice totally free of surprise. "She's losing a lot of blood, but she is still alive."

"We have to get that arrow out of her," Calleigh murmured. She quickly opened the medical pack that she'd taken from one of the rescue officers, and started pulling out supplies.

"It's buried in the tree," Horatio said. "There's only one way to do this. We'll have to pull her off it. Calleigh?"

Calleigh nodded. "Ready."

"Okay, on three. One, two, three."

They pulled together, and Alex's body slid forward, the arrow passing through her body. The action succeeded where Bobby had failed only a short time ago. Alex came to with a violent start, and a strangled sob of pain escaped her lips.

"Lay her down," Horatio muttered. "Quickly, now… Alex, can you hear me?"

She moaned softly in response, and her eyes flickered half open, focusing on him a long moment later. Horatio smiled reassuringly at her while Calleigh quickly pulled out thick wads of gauze, pressing them hard against the open wound to staunch the flow of blood.

"You're safe, Alex. We're going to take care of you, okay?"

"_Bo…bby…_"

Her voice came out as nothing more than a wisp of exhaled breath, but both Horatio and Calleigh understood what she was trying to say. Before either of them had a chance to respond, there came the sound of gunshots from close by. Horatio stood quickly.

"Calleigh, use your radio, and call for one of the rescue choppers. She'll need to be airlifted out of here as quickly as possible."

Calleigh nodded, and Horatio turned and ran off in the direction Deakins had gone.

* * *

Deakins ran across the grass and into the trees. He soon found, though, that he did not have to go far. He came over a small rise to be confronted by a horrifying sight. At the bottom of a short slope, Bobby Goren lay on the ground, right on the edge of a cliff. Standing above him, crossbow aimed and ready to use, stood Erik Mathers. 

Deakins wasted no time. Lifting his gun, he took aim and fired.

Mathers' body jerked violently as bullets struck him in the back, and in the head. He stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his hand and dropping harmlessly to the ground. His feet caught on Bobby's inert form, though, and as Mathers toppled over the edge of the cliff, he sent Bobby slipping over the edge as well.

Deakins ran down the slope, falling to the ground at the edge of the cliff, and looked over, expecting to see two bodies on the ground far below. Just below the edge of the cliff, though, Bobby hung by his right hand to an out-jutting bit of rock.

"Goren!" Deakins shouted. He stretched himself as far forward as he could, and managed to close his hands around Bobby's wrist even as Bobby's hold on the rock slipped. Bobby looked up at Deakins' his eyes dull and unfocused. It was impossible for Deakins to know whether the detective even knew he was there.

"Goren, give me your other hand," he told him breathlessly. "I can't pull you up otherwise."

Recognition flickered in Bobby's eyes, then.

"Captain…"

"Yes, it's me," Deakins gasped. "Reach, Bobby! I need your other hand."

Bobby tried to lift his left arm, but pain exploded through the limb, and he cried out in distress, unable to lift it high enough for Deakins to grab hold. Deakins shuddered. The detective was no light weight, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on to Bobby for much longer.

"Please, try," Deakins begged. "Please, Bobby, try and reach…"

There was movement to his right, and a glance told him that Horatio had arrived. The lieutenant leaned over, reaching for Bobby's other hand, but the detective made no further effort to lift his other arm.

"Goren, give us your other hand!" Deakins shouted. "I can't hold you for much longer!"

Instead, Bobby looked away from them, as though inviting oblivion.

"Damn it…" Deakins gasped as he felt his grip starting to loosen. Horatio drew in a sharp, hissing breath.

"He thinks she's dead…"

Deakins looked at Horatio, startled at his words.

"What…?"

"She's alive, Captain," Horatio told Deakins quickly. "Alex is still alive."

The knowledge struck Deakins like a sledgehammer. He looked back to Bobby, and tried again.

"Bobby! Bobby, listen to me. She's not dead. Do you hear me? _Alex is not dead_."

Bobby looked back up at Deakins, confusion in his eyes mixed with slowly dawning realisation. Deakins spoke again, frantically.

"Alex is alive, Bobby. We found her, and she's still alive. Now, _reach, goddamn you!_"

Understanding finally dawned in Bobby's eyes, understanding mixed with new determination. A moment later, he screamed in pain as he finally swung his broken arm up, allowing Horatio to catch hold of his wrist. Between the two men, they managed to drag Bobby back up to the safety of solid ground.

"Thank God," Deakins moaned as they lay Bobby carefully on the ground.

"He's not out of the woods yet, Captain," Horatio said grimly as he got an eyeful of Bobby's injuries. "We need the rescue medics, quickly."

Deakins nodded and pulled out his radio.

"Mack? Can you hear me?"

His radio crackled to life as Mack responded.

"_I hear you, Captain. We picked up Logan, and we're coming to the top of the slope now. What news do you have?_"

"We've got them," Deakins confirmed. "They're both alive, but they're both also badly hurt. You'll find Calleigh with Eames as soon as you come into the clearing. Send one of those rescue officers into the trees with a medical kit. Just follow the trail of blood. Horatio and I are here with Goren."

"_Roger that. Someone'll be there in just a minute. What about Erik Mathers?_"

"Mathers is dead," Deakins replied stonily. "I shot him myself."

There was just a brief second of silence before Mack answered again.

"_Okay, Captain. Someone will be there soon._"

Deakins and Horatio exchanged weary looks, and then Deakins returned his attention to Bobby.

"Bobby? Are you still with us?"

Slowly, Bobby's eyes opened, and gradually focused on the familiar face of his captain.

"You're safe, Bobby," Deakins told him gently. "Do you understand me? Mathers is dead. You're both safe."

Bobby shuddered a little.

"…'_lex_…"

"She's alive," Horatio told him as he pressed his hand firmly to the shoulder wound to try and stem the flow of blood. "I promise you that."

"Captain Deakins?"

Deakins looked around to see Bishop hurrying down the slope, with one of the rescue officers close behind her. She fell to her knees next to Deakins, her gaze sweeping over Bobby's battered form in horror.

"Oh god…"

Deakins didn't respond to that, but looked to the rescue officer who spoke quickly.

"Rescue One will be landing in just a couple of minutes. Luckily, the clearing is big enough for them to land. The paramedics should be here shortly. We'll have them out of here soon, Captain Deakins."

"Two broken legs," Horatio murmured. "How in God's name did he make it up that rise?"

"Looks like his left arm is broken, too," Bishop said in dismay. "And… what's this?"

They looked to where Bishop indicated, to a patch of angry red flesh on Bobby's stomach, just below his rib cage. Horatio took a closer look, then let his breath out in a rush.

"This has been cauterised."

Deakins stared at Horatio incredulously.

"Are you saying he cauterised one of his own wounds?"

"Either he or Alex," Horatio said. "I'm guessing this is where he was hit by an arrow. They probably cauterised it to stop him from bleeding out. In fact… I won't be the slightest bit surprised if we find a similar wound somewhere on Detective Eames."

Deakins looked back down at Bobby, his relief at having found them both tempered by the knowledge that their injuries could still result in their deaths.

"Damn it, where are the paramedics?"

"There," Horatio said, nodding away up the slope. Deakins looked, and sure enough two paramedics were coming quickly down the slope, laden with equipment for emergency treatment.

Over the next few minutes, Deakins, Bishop and Horatio found themselves pushed back, out of the way, able only to watch as the medics rendered emergency treatment.

They watched as one medic administered humidified oxygen and inserted an IV needle to supply warmed fluids to combat the onset of hypothermia. The other quickly immobilised his arm and legs with air splints, and then treated and covered his open wounds.

Then, Horatio and Deakins both stepped in to help as the paramedics wrapped Bobby carefully in an insulated blanket, slid a rescue stretcher beneath him, and strapped him in.

"Okay," one of the medics announced, "we're ready to move him."

They made their way back up the slope, the stretcher supported between the two medics, the rescue officer and Horatio. They arrived back at the clearing where the chopper labelled Rescue One had landed. Calleigh was waiting for them, along with Mack Taylor.

"Eames is already on board," Mack shouted above the noise of the chopper's rotor blades. "So is Logan. As soon as they get Goren on board, they'll head straight to back to New York. Captain Deakins, they said they have enough room for two extra passengers. You and Bishop should go with them."

Deakins looked gratefully at Mack and Calleigh.

"Thankyou."

"Go on, Captain,"Mack told him. "Go with your detectives."

Deakins didn't argue. He and Bishop hurried to the chopper, and climbed inside. Horatio retreated quickly to join Mack and Calleigh, and watch as the chopper lifted off the ground, carrying its precious cargo.

"I can't believe we actually found them alive," Calleigh said softly as they watched the chopper disappear over the trees on its emergency run back to New York.

"That makes two of us," Mack said wryly.

"The danger isn't past yet," Horatio reminded them grimly. "They're both in critical condition. They could still die."

"They survived this long… and this much," Mack mused. "I think it's safe to say they have a pretty good chance."

"C'mon," Calleigh said, a small smile on her face. "Let's get everything together. The other chopper will be here soon to pick us up."

"Horatio…" Mack said as they headed over to the trees to gather up their strewn equipment. "Did you see what happened with Erik Mathers?"

Horatio shook his head.

"No, Mack, I didn't. Calleigh and I were doing what we could for Detective Eames when we heard shots fired. When I got there, Captain Deakins was trying to pull Detective Goren back up from the cliff. As near as I can figure, Mathers must have been about to kill Goren. Deakins shot him to stop him. Mathers went over the cliff, and somehow Goren went with him. That's when I got there." He paused, understanding Mack's concerns. "IA will just have to take Captain Deakins' word for what happened. I doubt that Goren will remember any of it."

"No one would blame him anyway," Calleigh retorted. "He was defending the life of one of his officers."

"I just wondered," Mack said quietly. He looked up as the sound of an approaching helicopter reached them, and spoke with no small measure of relief.

"Time to go home."


	16. Back Home Again

It was a good few minutes before Deakins found he was finally able to tear his gaze away from his two detectives as the on-board medics treated their wounds as best as they could. Bishop sat next to him, also watching the proceedings in concern. Just along from them, though, sitting with his head back and his eyes shut, was Logan.

"How's the arm?" Deakins asked. Logan looked across at Deakins, then down at his wounded arm. The arrow had been removed and the wound treated with antiseptic and firmly covered. It would be treated properly on arrival at the hospital back in New York.

"It's okay," Logan said dismissively. "Just a scratch."

"Bullshit," Bishop retorted. "You're full of it, Mike. You could have bled out from that wound."

Logan looked pointedly at Bobby and Alex, both of whom clearly still had a real fight ahead of them.

"Compared to what they've been through, this is just a scratch. But it is kind of nice to hear you call me Mike for once."

She tried to scowl at him, but try as she might she couldn't hide the smile that turned up the corners of her mouth. Logan grinned and settled back once more in his seat. Bishop shook her head, and then looked back at Deakins. He was watching his two rescued detectives once more but, most particularly, Bishop noticed his gaze was on Alex. She remembered Calleigh's words when she and Mack got there. Deakins had gone off in search of Bobby, thinking that Alex was already dead when, in fact, she had still been hanging in there.

"You thought she was dead, didn't you?" she asked in as soft a voice as she could manage and still be heard by him. Deakins glanced at her, then looked across at Bobby.

"So did he. We nearly lost him because of it."

"What happened?" Bishop asked, wondering if he would even talk about it.

He was silent for nearly a minute before speaking.

"I got there first. Horatio and Calleigh were close behind me, but I got there first. She was just sitting there against the tree, slumped over… I didn't see the arrow at first, not until I got closer. She… she was impaled on it. It was holding her up against the tree. There was blood everywhere, and she was so cold. I was certain she was dead. Bobby was nowhere to be seen. Then I saw blood on the ground. It led away to the trees on the other side of the clearing. I figured Bobby must have gone that way, and Mathers had probably gone after him. I didn't think there was anything we could do for Alex, but Bobby might still be alive, so I went after them. I came over the hill to find Mathers standing over him. He was going to shoot him with another of those damned arrows. He had it aimed at Bobby's head. I took my gun and I shot him. There was no other way. Mathers fell forward, over the cliff. As he went, his feet caught on Bobby, and they both went over. When I got there, Bobby was hanging on by just one hand. I managed to grab his wrist just as he lost his grip." Deakins shook his head, distressed. "I kept telling him to reach up so I could take his other hand. I didn't know then that his left arm was broken. Horatio got there, then, and I told him to reach up, and let Horatio take his hand, but he wouldn't even look at us then. I knew that look on his face. He just wanted to quit by then. He thought Alex was dead, and he wanted to join her. Then Horatio told me Alex wasn't dead… I don't know how I managed to make Bobby understand that, but I did. Then he finally made the effort to get his hand up to Horatio, and we were able to pull him back up. Another few seconds, and I wouldn't have been able to hang on any longer. If I'd dropped him…"

"You didn't," Bishop told him firmly. "You didn't let go. You saved his life, Captain."

Deakins stared at Bobby's ashen face.

"Maybe. That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

Bishop sat back, feeling sick to her stomach as Deakins' words thrust home the reality that neither Bobby nor Alex were guaranteed to survive. As Deakins had suggested, all they could do was wait and see.

* * *

_  
Major Case Squad  
__One Police Plaza_

Detective Aaron Jeffers hung up his phone and sat back in his chair with a thud. The news he'd just had was good, but after the events and trauma of the last four days, it was taking a moment to sink in.

"Jeffers? You okay, buddy?"

He looked up to find his partner, Zach Brolin, watching him in concern. Jeffers abruptly stood up, initially ignoring Brolin.

"Hey, everyone, listen up!"

Silence descended in the office at Jeffers' hollered command, and everyone who had heard, detectives and staff members alike, all turned to listen. Jeffers waited until he was sure he had everyone's attention, and then spoke loudly and clearly so everyone could hear.

"I just talked to David Ash. Goren and Eames are alive! They found them about half an hour ago."

A near-deafening cheer went up, and Jeffers had to wait for it to die down before he could go on.

"They were airlifted off Gore Mountain about twenty minutes ago, and they're being brought straight back home to New York."

"What about the bastard that took them?" someone asked. "Did they get him, too?"

"Erik Mathers is dead," Jeffers answered bluntly. "Deakins shot the son of a bitch himself. From what Ash told me, he saved Goren's life. He stopped Mathers from killing Goren. I don't know anything more than that. We'll have to wait for them to get back from the Adirondacks."

A murmur went through the gathered group and then, slowly, they began to disperse until only Jeffers' partner remained.

"Is that really all?" Brolin asked softly. Jeffers looked grim as he dropped back into his chair.

"Ash wasn't saying over the phone, but I got the feeling that it isn't good. All he'd say was that they're alive. He wouldn't say that they're okay."

"Shit," Brolin muttered. "Did he say when they'll be arriving back in New York?"

"The air ambulance should be landing on St Clare's helipad in half an hour or so. After that… We'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

_  
Several hours later  
__St Clare's Hospital  
__New York City_

Ron Carver strode down the corridor and into a private waiting room, pausing just long enough to knock quickly. Deakins and Bishop sat in there, both looking thoroughly exhausted.

"Ron," Deakins greeted him tiredly.

"I was in court," Carver said. "I got the news as soon as I got back to my office. How are they?"

"They're alive," Deakins answered. "Right at the moment, that's all I can say."

Carver sat down slowly in a chair opposite them.

"Is it that bad?"

"I can't even start to describe the injuries they both have, Ron. Goren's legs were both broken… so was his left arm. Eames' left was arm broken as well. They'd both been shot with arrows, among other things… They're both suffering from hypothermia. They're probably severely dehydrated, and all that is just for starters. They're in a very bad way."

"And Erik Mathers… What about him?"

Deakins looked straight at Ron, his expression remorseless.

"He's dead."

"I see…"

"I shot him to stop him from putting an arrow through Goren's skull. They'll recover the body eventually, from the bottom of the cliff where it fell."

Carver nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised. Please, Jim, don't take this the wrong way… but did anyone else witness this?"

"Technically? Goren did, but I doubt he'll remember it. Other than that, no. No one did. IA will just have to accept my account. I did what I did to save the life of one of my officers. I'm not apologising for it."

"I wasn't asking you to." Carver looked across at Bishop. "Where is Detective Logan?"

"In Emergency," Bishop answered wearily. "Mathers tried to stall us to keep us from getting to Goren and Eames in time. He shot Mike with an arrow, through his right forearm."

"Good god…"

"He's okay," Bishop murmured. "They'll probably keep him here for a day or two to monitor possible infection, and because he lost a fair bit of blood, but he'll be fine."

Carver looked at both of them critically.

"Perhaps now you'll all get some rest. Especially you, Jim."

Deakins shook his head.

"Not until I know whether they're going to pull through."

"I take it they're still in surgery?" Carver wondered.

"Yeah," Bishop mumbled, her eyes closing and her head lolling back against the soft cushions of the sofa even as she spoke. Carver watched as she slipped into a light sleep, then looked at Deakins.

"You really should get some sleep too, Jim, even if it's just an hour or so. There isn't anything more you can do. Goren and Eames are getting the best care this city can afford now. They'll be okay."

"You didn't see them, Ron. If you'd seen them, you wouldn't say that."

A slight chill went down Carver's spine.

"It really is bad… isn't it?"

"When we found Eames… I thought she was already dead. She wasn't, but I thought she was. I can't begin to explain how I felt when I saw her. And whatever I felt was probably only a fraction of how Goren must have felt. He was ready to let himself die, because he thought she was dead. I'm going to have nightmares tonight when I go to bed, Ron. We nearly lost them both."

Carver let his breath out slowly. Before he had the opportunity to speak, though, the door opened and a doctor stepped in.

"Excuse me, Captain Deakins?"

Deakins stood up quickly, and Bishop awoke with a start at the new voice.

"Yes. You have news?"

The doctor nodded.

"My name is Ian Blake. Technically I only have Detective Eames in my care, but I can give you the news about Detective Goren as well. They both came through surgery okay, and they've just been moved from Recovery into rooms in the ICU. Now, I don't want to jump the gun here, because the next twenty-four hours are going to be critical for both of them… But I think they're going to be okay."

Deakins shuddered a little.

"Thank God."

"What about their injuries?" Carver asked. Blake indicated for them to sit back down.

"Please, sit. The list is pretty extensive for each of them. In all honesty, I've never seen anything quite like it before in my life. How they managed to survive four days suffering that kind of abuse is a miracle in itself. Firstly, Detective Eames has a severely broken left arm. Actually, broken is less the right word than shattered. It will heal, but it's going to take a long time. It's a similar situation with her right leg. The wound in her leg… I believe it was made by an arrow? It cracked the bone, _and_ managed to tear the hamstring muscles as it went through. And to top that off, the wound is badly infected. I don't suppose you know how it came to be cauterised?"

"We suspect that they cauterised each other's wounds," Deakins said softly. Blake nodded.

"I don't doubt they saved each other's lives in doing that, but the truth is that Detective Eames also nearly lost her leg because of it. There was severe internal bleeding. If she'd been any later getting medical attention, she would have lost it."

Deakins drew in a steadying breath.

"Dr Blake, if she'd been any later getting medical attention, she would have been dead."

"I'm not criticising your detectives' actions, Captain Deakins," Blake reassured him. "Far from it. What they did took incredible courage. I'm only trying to say that they were also incredibly lucky. Now, ironically, the least serious wound that Detective Eames suffered was the arrow through her stomach. Somehow, it missed all her organs and arteries. What it did do, though, was tear through her abdominal muscles. It's going to take her considerable time to recover from that, and from the blood loss she suffered. She won't be doing anything very quickly for several weeks.

"She was fortunate, though. Those were the most serious of her injuries. The only other thing we'll need to continue monitoring is the head wound she suffered. Someone hit her very hard on the head. Detective Goren suffered a similar injury, as a matter of fact. Both of them are suffering fairly serious head trauma.

"Now, we seem to have the hypothermia under control for both of them, but we'll also be monitoring that very carefully regardless. It could still develop into pneumonia, or other related illnesses. The last thing either of them needs right now is a dose of pneumonia, or influenza.

"The bottom line is that Detective Eames has a rather prolonged hospital stay to look forward to while she recovers. So does Detective Goren."

"And what about Detective Goren's injuries?" Carver asked.

"I'm afraid his situation is slightly more tenuous than that of Detective Eames," Blake said quietly.

"How do you mean?" Deakins asked, feeling his heart rate start to pick up. "You said they would both be okay."

"I know," Blake conceded, "but I also said the next twenty-four hours will be critical. Detective Goren's injuries... are grievous, to say the least."

"Perhaps you should start at the top, Doctor Blake," Carver suggested. Blake nodded.

"All right, I will, literally. I said they had similar head wounds. That wasn't an entirely accurate assessment. Detective Goren suffered a blow to the head so severe that it fractured his skull. Now, it isn't as bad as it could have been, but we will be keeping a close watch for any sign of excessive trauma, or pressure building within his skull.

"X-rays revealed two metal spikes embedded in his right shoulder blade, which had to be removed surgically. Both spikes were apparently leaking some sort of toxin into his body that we haven't yet been able to identify. It's obvious that whatever the poison is, it wasn't meant to be fatal, and he might have been able to recover from its effects well enough, but with the added effects of the hypothermia, his immune system has taken a severe battering. We will eventually be able to flush out his system, but it's going to take time. What hasn't helped was the arrow wound to that same shoulder. I'm afraid the nerves were damaged, and it's too early to know whether the repair job done during surgery was successful. Right at the moment, we have to consider the possibility that he could lose the use of his right arm.

"His left arm was broken, as you know, but that is one of his lesser injuries. It will heal properly. It's nothing to worry about.

"Now, Detective Goren was wounded by another arrow. There were twin puncture wounds in his back and stomach, which had been cauterised the same as Detective Eames' leg wound. Unlike Detective Eames, though, Detective Goren had no internal bleeding as a result of that wound. It appears to have been a clean through and through, fortunately affecting none of his vital organs. The wounds themselves have become infected, though, so again we'll have to keep a close watch on that.

"Four of his ribs on the left side were quite badly broken, but fortunately there was no damage done as a result of that. He's going to be very, very sore in that area for a few weeks, but that's one of our least concerns.

"Detective Goren's legs are one of our greatest concerns at the moment. The left leg is broken in two places below the knee, and there is a stress fracture in his left foot, but they are only minor fractures. The real problem is his right leg. All up… and keep in mind that this doesn't include the greenstick fracture in his foot… Detective Goren's right leg is broken in seven places."

"_Seven_?" Bishop burst out, horrified. Blake nodded.

"I know, and I'm afraid it really is as bad as it sounds. There are three distinct breaks in the femur, two simple fractures and one greenstick. The tibia has a greenstick fracture and a simple fracture, and there are two simple fractures in the fibula. All I can say is thank God there were no compound fractures. Now, I got the impression from the descriptions his doctor gave me that Detective Goren must have walked a considerable distance _after_ suffering those injuries to his legs."

Deakins nodded.

"We think so."

Blake sighed a little. "Your detectives deserve medals for courage, Captain Deakins. The pain Detective Goren suffered had to have been horrendous."

"Is that everything, Doctor?" Deakins asked, looking slightly green.

"As a matter of fact," Blake answered grimly, "no. But that's all you need to hear about for now."

"Can we see them?" Bishop asked.

"I'm afraid not," Blake answered apologetically. "For the time being, it's strictly family only."

"Eames' father is with her, then?" Deakins wondered. Blake nodded.

"Yes. But perhaps you could tell me who from Detective Goren's family we can expect?"

"No one," Deakins answered grimly, drawing surprised looks from Bishop and Carver as well as Blake.

"Excuse me?" Blake asked, startled.

"Dr Blake," Deakins said tiredly, "Detective Goren's mother is a permanent resident at Carmel Ridge. She suffers from severe schizophrenia. Even if we were able to make her understand what's happened to her son, she is hardly in the position to come and be with him. His father died approximately eight years ago, and he has no uncles or aunts. His only other living relation that we are aware of is an older brother. My detectives contacted him when we first became aware of what had happened to Goren and Eames, and he gave every indication that he didn't care. So, no. No one from Detective Goren's family will be coming."

Blake sighed again, and stood up.

"All right. Come with me, and I'll take you to him."

* * *

"I wasn't aware that Detective Goren's mother was afflicted with schizophrenia," Carver said in a low voice as they followed Blake along the hospital hallway. 

"It isn't a fact that he widely publicises," Deakins answered. "I would appreciate it if both of you would refrain from mentioning it to anyone else. That includes Detective Goren himself."

"And his brother really doesn't care?" Carver asked incredulously. "That I _do_ find difficult to believe."

"David Ash contacted Goren's brother as soon as we knew for certain that Goren and Eames had been abducted by Mathers. Ash said the brother's words were, quote, 'I haven't seen my brother in nine years, what makes you think I give a damn now'. Unquote."

"Son of a bitch," Bishop growled.

"This way," Blake said, ushering them through the door into ICU. He led them down a short hallway, and into a room with a single bed that was surrounded by machines.

"God Almighty," Carver murmured. Blake watched them sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't see the point in trying to forewarn you. Nothing I could have said would have prepared you for the sight of him."

Deakins walked around slowly to the far side of the bed. Words could ill-describe the sight of Bobby, confined to a hospital bed for who knew how long, and hooked up to several different pieces of equipment.

"Is the ventilator really necessary?" Carver asked.

"It's not vital," Blake replied. "What we want right now, though, is to make things as easy on him as possible. His broken ribs will make even the normally simple task of breathing a fairly painful one. The ventilator will merely assist him by getting oxygen into his body with the least possible effort on his part."

"Look at his legs," Bishops whispered in dismay. Deakins and Carver both looked in silence, each man understanding the distress in Bishop's voice. Both of Bobby's legs were suspended a little off the bed. The left was encased in plaster from just below the knee and all the way down to cover most of his foot. The right leg, though, had metal pins inserted into the flesh, five all together running up the length of his leg.

"When the bones start to mend properly, we'll remove the pins and replace them with a special cast," Blake explained. "That won't be for at least two or three weeks, though."

"How long before he'll be able to start rehab?" Deakins asked.

"You mean before the casts come off his legs? Absolute minimum of ten weeks. It will probably be longer, though."

"He'll go stir crazy," Bishop said ruefully. "Stuck in his apartment on his own, with nowhere to go…"

"That's another issue that we're going to have deal with," Blake said tentatively. Deakins looked up at him slowly.

"What are you talking about, Doctor?"

"Well, it's going to be five or six weeks before either Detective Goren or Detective Eames will be ready to leave hospital, but if Detective Goren has no family to help look after him…"

"Yes?" Deakins growled. Blake sighed.

"Unless he's willing to employ a carer to stay with him on a full time basis until he's completed rehab, he isn't going to be able to go home. When the time comes, he'll be moved the rehabilitation wing of the hospital, and he'll have to stay there until his rehab is complete."

Deakins shut his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, calming breath.

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, all right?" He paused, looking around the room, then pulled a large armchair over to the bedside and sat down.

"Jim…" Carver started to say, only to be silenced by a threatening look from Deakins.

"I will not leave him alone. Bishop, why don't you go and see how Logan is, and then go home and get some rest?"

Bishop stared at Deakins for a long moment before wheeling around and walking out of the room in silence.

"I suppose I can't talk you into doing that yourself?" Carver asked.

"I told you," Deakins said softly, "I'm not leaving him alone. If he woke up…"

"That is highly unlikely, Captain Deakins," Blake interrupted gently. "The chances of him waking up within the next twenty-four hours are very slim. You really would be best to go home and get some rest."

"I can't do that," Deakins whispered, his gaze falling on Bobby's bruised face. "I just can't."

Blake nodded in understanding.

"I'll have a nurse bring you a pillow and blankets. If you need anything else, just say."

He headed out and, after a long moment, Carver followed him.

"You're actually going to allow him to stay in there?" Carver asked Blake in a low voice once they were out of the room. Blake looked back at Carver.

"I treat injured cops all the time… Mr Carver, is it?"

"Yes…"

"Okay. In every one of those situations, when a cop has come to me with critical injuries, I've had to deal with two more or less separate families; the cop's literal, biological family and the wider family that includes their partner and commanding officer. In just about every instance, the commanding officer has displayed almost identical reactions to the situation as the parents of the injured cop, but they've backed off in favour of said parents. This case is no different in some ways, but very different in others. On one hand, we have Detective Eames whose father, brother and sister are with her right now. On the other hand we have Detective Goren who, by Captain Deakins' own admission, has no family to support him. Now, Mr Carver, you look me in the eye and tell me it's wrong to allow Captain Deakins to stay in that room with a critically injured officer who otherwise has no one to support him."

Carver conceded with some reluctance.

"I understand… but do you realise that he has not slept since Detectives Goren and Eames first went missing?"

"I suspected as much. As I said, I'll have a nurse take in a pillow and blankets for him and, if necessary, a mild dosage of sleeping pills. He'll get the sleep he needs, I promise you."

"I appreciate that," Carver said. "Please understand, I'm just concerned about him."

Blake smiled a little. "I know, Mr Carver. But you need to understand that he isn't going to be able to rest easy until he knows that both of his detectives are going to be all right. And when I say all right, that means knowing that they will both fully recover and be able to return to work."

"Is there any chance of that happening?" Carver asked. Blake hesitated in answering.

"Physically? Perhaps. Only time will tell, but right now our priority is keeping them alive. Once the danger period is past, then we'll start looking at things from a long term perspective."

"And what about mentally and emotionally?" Carver asked softly.

Blake looked less than positive, Carver thought grimly.

"Only time will tell, Mr Carver."


	17. Recovery

Darkness. Pain and darkness. That was all there was.

At first, the darkness had been calm, peaceful. A kind of floating void. No thoughts, no memories, no pain, but as she came slowly back into awareness, so too came the pain. And it wasn't just pain, it was agony. She tried to scream, tried to cry, but all sound was muted. She couldn't hear herself, let alone make herself heard.

She tried to move, but her body felt heavy, weighed down. Her left arm was completely immobile and the rest of her body felt drugged, helpless. And again, the pain dominated everything.

Her arms… her stomach… her head… All felt as though they were on fire, a fire that burned from the inside rather than out. She tried to cry out again, and this time heard her own voice, weak and small, but there nonetheless.

A hand closed gently over her right one and she grew still. Her memories were pretty scatty, but she was sure that touch did not belong to Bobby. It felt familiar, though. Comforting and reassuring.

She breathed deeply, and was confounded by the warm oxygen that filtered down her throat, rather than the ice cold mountain air that she and Bobby had breathed in for the last two days. And what was on her face? Was that… _an oxygen mask_?

A voice echoed distantly in her ears, again familiar but still meaningless. She gave up trying to work out what had happened… what was happening. All she wanted was to be lost in that void again, where there was no pain, and no fear.

Her breath escaped her in the faintest of sighs, and the last sensation she had was relief as darkness took her once more.

* * *

Gavin Eames peered down at his daughter's battered features anxiously, wondering if she was going to defy the doctor's prediction and wake up well ahead of the estimated time. He genuinely thought she had been about to do just that when she moaned softly and tried to move, but then it seemed to become too much and she had slipped back into unconsciousness.

He sat back wearily once he was certain she was asleep again. Granted, it had only been a few hours since she had been moved from Recovery into ICU, but he had been hopeful all the same. He supposed, though, that it was a little too much to expect.

Gavin looked across the bed to her left arm, and the ugly metal pins that held the mended bones in place. Her doctor, Ian Blake, had assured him that the injury would heal, but it would take time, and what would probably be an equally long period of rehabilitation. In short, Alex had a long road to recovery ahead of her.

His gaze went to the door of the single bed room as a nurse walked past. Where he sat, he had a clear view across the hallway, past the duty desk and into a room on the other side of the ICU. From where he sat, Gavin could just make out the figure of James Deakins, his daughter's commanding officer, sitting slumped in a chair by a bedside. Specifically, Bobby Goren's bedside.

Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, Gavin got slowly to his feet and with a last look at his daughter, silently padded out of the room.

* * *

Deakins slid in and out of awareness, his stubborn mind fighting ferociously against the exhaustive desire of his body to simply shut down. He had been awake now for approximately four days, and it was taking a serious toll on his endurance capabilities. He suspected even Bobby and Alex had gotten some rest during their four days of hell, and yet he still couldn't bring himself to consciously give in to his desperate need for sleep.

A shadow fell across the door and Deakins looked up, bleary-eyed.

"Gavin?"

Gavin Eames walked in slowly, his eyes flickering to the figure in the bed.

"Hey, Jim. How's he doing?"

Deakins sank back into the chair.

"I think the doctor's preferred choice of word was 'tenuous'. It's going to be touch and go for a while."

Gavin stared at the inert figure in the bed for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over Bobby's legs before returning to Deakins.

"His leg looks as bad as Alex's arm. How the hell did they end up with such badly broken bones?"

"They fell from a ledge," Deakins answered quietly. "They fell approximately forty or fifty feet into shallow water. From what we could work out, Goren was carrying Eames at the time, because she'd been wounded in the leg. The ground gave way beneath them, and they fell. We won't know for certain until one of them wakes up and can tell us exactly what happened, but we think that's more or less what happened."

"Hell… Jim, I can't tell you how happy I was to hear you shot and killed the son of a bitch that hurt my little girl."

"Yes," Deakins said, "well, I'd like to say shooting him was purely clinical, but I've never felt as satisfied as I did when I shot that bastard dead. Maybe I'll feel differently about it when I've gotten some proper rest… but I doubt it."

"They deserve medals, you know," Gavin murmured. "They saved each other's lives. Plenty of people would have just quit."

"If it had been either one of them on their own," Deakins said quietly, "maybe they would have done just that. They kept each other going, Gavin. If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's that. They survived because they were together, not strictly because they had any more courage than any of Erik Mathers' other victims. That was the mistake he made. He got cocky… over-confident."

Gavin smiled bitterly.

"He picked the wrong pair. You know, Jim, I won't say that I knew they'd survive, but I did feel that as long as Alex was with Bobby, I at least had a chance of seeing her again."

Deakins nodded in agreement.

"I know what you mean. I've seen good partnerships before, but theirs is one of the best."

Silence briefly fell and then Gavin took a step back, towards the door.

"I'll go back to Alex's room. She, uh… She woke up for a minute, just a little while ago."

"That's good to hear," Deakins murmured, his gaze fixed firmly on the officer in the bed beside him. Gavin stared at Deakins for a long moment, and then spoke softly.

"They'll pull through, Jim. I really believe that. Try and get some rest now, okay? Then, when Bobby does wake up, you'll be in a fit state to give him some reassurance." Gavin looked pointedly at Bobby's damaged legs. "God knows he's going to need it."

Deakins looked up, and watched in silence as Gavin retreated back to his daughter's room. Those simple words had slammed home to him better than anything else so far the necessity of rest. Gavin was right, Deakins realised ruefully. What use would he be if, when Bobby did eventually wake up, he was so exhausted that he was incoherent?

He looked reluctantly to the pillow and blankets that sat, so far untouched, in a neat pile on the window sill. Finally acquiescing, he draped the blankets over himself and slipped the pillow behind his head. Settling back, Deakins watched Bobby's passive features through half-closed eyes.

He was asleep less than a minute later.

* * *

Logan was channel surfing idly when Bishop walked in. He flashed a grin at her, and quickly switched off the TV.

"Come to visit your poor wounded partner?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Don't push it, Mike."

"There it is again. I really like the sound of you calling me Mike."

Bishop shook her head and wandered over and sat down in an empty chair with a heavy thud.

"Why don't you go home, Bishop?" Logan suggested quietly. "You're exhausted."

"I know. I am tired… but it's not that. I just came from ICU."

All banter fell away from Logan's face.

"You saw them?"

"We didn't see Eames. Her family was in with her. The doctor let us in to see Goren because Deakins said he didn't have any family to be here for him."

"What, none at all? What about his mom? I know his old man is dead, but his mom is still around, isn't she?"

Bishop hesitated, remembering Deakins' warning to both her and Ron Carver.

"She… She's in a nursing home."

"Invalid, huh?"

"Yeah, something like that. He's got a brother, but apparently he basically said he didn't care."

"Shit. That's lousy. So… How'd he look? I mean, compared to when we found him."

"Compared to that? A hundred percent… but it was still pretty horrible."

"And you used to work in Homicide," Logan teased lightly. Bishop shook her head.

"I know I've seen some awful things, but this was different, Mike. It's a whole different situation when it's someone you know. They… they put metal pins in his right leg. It was broken in seven places!"

"Damn," Logan muttered. "Wasn't his left leg busted as well?"

"Two breaks in the left leg, and a stress fracture in his left foot," Bishop confirmed.

"How the hell did he manage to walk as far as he did? How'd he manage to walk at all?"

"I don't know. The doctor said the pain must have been unbelievable."

"I'll bet it was. Well, is he going to be okay, or what?"

"They don't know yet. The doctor said the next twenty-four hours will be critical."

Logan grunted. "They always say that. They're just covering their asses if something goes wrong, or someone screws up. They'll both be okay, Bishop, I'm sure of it. They didn't survive this long just to croak in hospital."

"I hate that word… croak…"

"You know what I mean, though."

"Yes. I know."

She looked up at him, then, and her gaze went to his arm. It had been thickly bandaged, and immobilised with a sling.

"I'm supposed to keep it still," Logan said in answer to her unspoken question. "They stopped the bleeding, but if I jerk it around… I don't know. They said something about excess blood loss, and shock. It'll be okay. I have to stay overnight, though, which sucks."

Bishop glanced to the IV drip, which was feeding fluids steadily into his body.

"I told them I didn't need that," he muttered, sounding like a sulky ten year-old. "I hate needles."

"Can I get anything for you?" she asked. His eyes lit up, and she quickly added, "Within reason, that is."

Logan smirked.

"I wouldn't say no to a burger, fries and a really big cup of coffee."

"That stuff's hell on your arteries, you know."

"Don't give me a lecture. I'm in pain, here."

"I thought it was just a scratch. Or was it more a case of ego?"

Logan looked sheepish, and a little embarrassed.

"Okay, Bishop, I admit it. It hurts like hell. Happy? I just didn't feel like I had any right to complain about it, considering what that bastard Mathers had put Goren and Eames through."

Bishop rose out of the chair, a small smile on her face as she moved towards the door.

"Mike…"

He glowered at her.

"What?"

"Call me Lyn."

A grin lit up Logan's face, wiping his frown away in an instant. "You mean I have official permission?"

"For now. Consider yourself on probation."

Logan rolled his eyes as she strode out of the room.

"Story of my life…"

* * *

_Twenty-four hours later_

The first thing Bobby became aware of as he slowly came back to awareness was not pain, but rather the lack of it. He lay in a fog of confusion, knowing he should be hurting and not understanding why he wasn't. The last however many days it had been, he had existed in a constant, unending state of pain. That he awoke now to find himself relatively pain free was disconcerting, to say the very least.

Slowly, he became conscious of a mattress beneath his body and a soft pillow beneath his head. The cabin… Had they somehow found their way back to the cabin…? No, that wasn't possible. What had happened…?

His memories were sketchy, at best. He had a vague recollection of Mathers attacking them in the clearing… and then what? Alex had been hurt… badly hurt… maybe dead.

Bobby's heart rate picked up as panic threatened. There was more to be remembered, but that was just a cloudy haze at the moment, beyond his current powers of recall. All he could think of, all he could focus on, was a terrifying image of Alex impaled to the tree by an arrow.

He drew in a ragged breath, and his right hand came up to drag the oxygen mask off his face as his heart rate sky-rocketed. _Dead_… _Alex is dead_…

Except, even in the midst of his panic attack, he thought he remembered a voice shouting at him, telling him otherwise.

_Bobby, listen to me. She's not dead. Do you hear me? Alex is **not** dead_…

A familiar voice. His captain's voice.

And then he remembered. He remembered being dragged over the edge of the cliff when Mathers fell. He remembered Deakins face, peering over the edge of the cliff at him, begging for him to reach up. He remembered Deakins' shouts that Alex was still alive…

Most of all, he remembered a brief moment of awareness in… _had it been a helicopter_... where he had looked and seen Alex on a stretcher right next to him, a paramedic working on her. Perhaps the memory was a false one, but Bobby didn't think so.

Slowly but surely, his breathing settled and his heart rate slowed as calm took over once more. Then, finally, Bobby Goren opened his eyes.

At first, he could see nothing but a blur of light and shadows. Then, as his vision slowly came back into focus, he found himself staring up at a sterile white ceiling. From there he focused on a tall metal pole with a bag full of some kind of liquid. An IV unit, he thought disjointedly. That could mean only one thing. He was in hospital.

Unless, he thought dazedly, this was some freakish new torture devised by Mathers. But, no. He knew it wasn't. Deep in his subconscious, he knew he was safe from Erik Mathers' insane, tortuous games.

He turned his head slowly, taking in his surroundings with growing relief. He was in hospital, veritable proof that they had been rescued.

Then Bobby saw Deakins.

For nearly a minute, Bobby stared at his commanding officer, feeling confused. Deakins was slumped low in the chair, fast asleep with a couple of hospital blankets covering him. Surely Deakins hadn't been there all this time? Though granted, Bobby had no conceivable way of knowing how long it had been since the rescue had taken place. For all he knew, it might have been only hours.

Bobby continued to watch Deakins, increasingly fascinated. He had never seen his commanding officer asleep before, let alone asleep in a chair in a hospital room. He looked almost… paternal.

A spark of warmth lit up somewhere deep within Bobby's soul. He'd always known Deakins to stand up for the officers under his command, and support them whole-heartedly. It was one of the many things that he respected about the captain, and one of many reasons why he had never questioned Deakins' authority even when he believed the wrong decision had been made.

But this… This was totally unexpected. The realisation that his captain would take up vigil at his bedside in hospital was heartening in a way that Bobby couldn't begin to describe.

He looked away slowly, feeling calmer and more reassured than he had for a long, long time. He shut his eyes, ready to go back to sleep again. Seconds later, the pain hit.

* * *

Deakins awoke with a start at the strangled cry of pain from the bed. Throwing off the blankets, he was on his feet a moment later.

"Bobby? Easy, try to relax…"

He had no idea whether Bobby was even aware of his presence. The detective had gone rigid in the bed, his face contorted in agony. Deakins did the only thing he could think of on the spur of the moment and, while reaching for the buzzer to alert the nurses, he slipped his other hand into Bobby's, and held on tightly. Whether it was a conscious act or pure reflex, Bobby's hand locked onto his in a powerful, pain-fuelled grip.

Deakins sucked in his breath sharply, but made no effort to pull his hand free. Instead, he placed the oxygen mask carefully back over Bobby's face and held it there gently.

"Damn it, Goren, stop thrashing," he growled as Bobby struggled helplessly.

A nurse strode in, took one look at the situation, and hurried back out again. Seconds later, Bobby's doctor, Jack Evans, ran in.

"He needs painkillers," Deakins gasped. Evans shook his head.

"He's getting the maximum dosage of morphine now, Captain. I can't risk pumping anymore into his body. That really would kill him. Bobby? Can you hear me? You need stop struggling. Do you understand? You have to try and relax."

Evans spoke loudly, hoping to break through the barrier of pain that currently surrounded his patient. When there was no positive response, Evans looked up at Deakins.

"Talk to him, Captain Deakins. He may recognise your voice. It might help to calm him down."

Looking less than certain, Deakins leaned in closer, and spoke as loudly as he dared.

"Goren, listen to me. Do you hear me? Stop fighting us. Calm down, and stop fighting. That's an order."

To Deakins' quiet amazement, Bobby seemed to actually pay heed to him, and he felt the detective's grip on his hand loosen just fractionally.

"That's it," Evans murmured. "Keep talking, Captain Deakins."

"Relax, Goren," Deakins said firmly. "You're safe, do you understand? You're in hospital, and you're safe. You have to calm down now. That's it, calm down…"

Slowly but surely, Bobby relaxed in the bed. His grip on Deakins' hand loosened completely, and his arm fell limply back onto the bed.

Deakins watched intently, half-expecting Bobby to lose consciousness once more but, to his surprise, it didn't happen. Instead, Bobby reached up weakly and tried once more to push the oxygen mask off his face. Evans gently took his hand away, and secured the mask in place.

"No, Detective Goren, leave it there for a few minutes," he said gently. "I know it's a nuisance, but it's only to help make things a little bit easier for you."

Bobby looked up at him, his eyes reflecting the extreme pain and exhaustion he was feeling. Evans went on, speaking clearly once he was sure he had Bobby's attention.

"I'm Dr Evans. I'm taking care of you now. You and your partner are both going to be all right, so you can relax. Let us do the work now, okay?"

Evans looked across the bed to Deakins, and smiled reassuringly.

"He's going to be okay, Captain Deakins."

"You're sure?" Deakins asked anxiously.

Evan's smile widened a little. Little did Deakins realise, he sounded exactly like a worried father.

"I'm sure. I was fairly certain he'd pull through, but those first twenty-four hours are always critical and we had the added worry of whether the hypothermia might have developed into pneumonia, or a lung infection. I can't completely rule those complications out yet, but that critical period is over now. He's going to be all right. And even better, it looks like there's no permanent nerve damage to his shoulder. If there was, I doubt he'd be able to move his arm at all."

Deakins looked back down at Bobby and felt a sudden, not so irrational desire to cry. He swallowed that back as Bobby tried, for a third time, to rid himself of the oxygen mask.

"For God's sake, leave it alone," Deakins growled, gently pushing his hand back down. Bobby moaned softly, and finally gave up trying to take it off. Evans walked around to join Deakins on the other side of the bed. He reached down, and gently took Bobby's hand in his own.

"I don't want you trying to talk just yet, Detective, but I do need ask a couple of questions. Just squeeze my hand once for yes, and twice for no. Understand?"

One squeeze. Evans nodded, satisfied.

"Good. Now, I need you to stay calm, like this. The more panicky and stressed that you get, the more distress you're going to cause yourself. You're already on the maximum dosage for painkillers, and we just can't give you anymore. Now, I know you're hurting a lot, but do you think you can keep yourself calm? Because if you can't, the only option we'll have will be to sedate you, and I'd like to avoid doing that if I could."

There was a long pause, and then Bobby gave a single, tentative squeeze. His gaze then flickered down the bed, to his broken legs, an unmistakable look of worry in his eyes.

"I know it looks bad," Evans agreed. "But I don't believe the damage is permanent. But I really don't want you to be worrying about that yet. All right?"

Another hesitant squeeze.

"Okay. One last thing. Would you like to know how your partner is doing?"

There was no need for Bobby to respond to that question by squeezing Evans' hand. The look in his eyes spoke in volumes.

"She's going to be fine, Detective," Evans reassured him. "Like you, she has a lot of recovering to do, but she is going to be fine. When you're both up to moving around, we'll see about getting the two of you together, so you can see for yourselves that you'll both be okay. Now, is there anything I can get for you?"

One squeeze. Then, Bobby reached up and gave the oxygen mask a single, light tap. Evans smiled faintly.

"Okay. I guess we can take that off now."

He gently lifted the oxygen mask off, careful not to disturb the gauze padding that covered the better part of the right side of Bobby's head.

"Anything else?"

"_Yeah_…" Bobby whispered, his throat raw and hurting. "_Steak_… _medium_… _lots of mushrooms_…"

Evans laughed aloud.

"Not quite yet, Detective. I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you get to have solid foods again. But I promise when the time comes, we'll make sure it's worth the wait. Deal?"

Bobby replied with a single squeeze of Evans' hand, unable to find the strength to speak again. Evans nodded.

"Okay. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a couple of other patients to check in on." He paused, favouring Bobby with an openly relieved smile. "I really am glad you're awake, Detective Goren. You had everyone worried for a while there."

Bobby watched him go, and then looked slowly back at Deakins. The captain was, in turn, watching him intently.

"That's an understatement," Deakins said when he was sure Bobby's attention was fully on him. "You and Alex had us all scared to death. Damn it, Bobby, if you ever do this to me again, _I'll_ kill you."

"_Sorry_…"

Deakins sighed faintly, and reached down to gently grasp Bobby's hand.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, not entirely. None of this was your fault, and I don't want you to think for a second that I'm blaming you, or Alex. If it makes you feel any better at all, just about the entire NYPD has been in overdrive since you and Alex disappeared. You two even managed to make it a cross-jurisdiction investigation. We're currently playing host to an entire contingent of CSIs from Miami, of all places."

"_Told_…"

Bobby coughed, and then winced at the pain in his ribs that it caused.

"What was that?" Deakins asked, leaning in a little closer. Bobby drew in a slow breath, and then managed to speak.

"_Told Alex… you wouldn't quit on us_."

Deakins felt his stomach knot up painfully.

"None of us did, Bobby," he said firmly. "None of us gave up on finding you. I… I wasn't going to entertain the thought of _not_ finding you. Oh… You'll be surprised when I tell you just who we had leading the investigation to rescue the two of you."

Bobby looked up at him questioningly. As tired and as sick as he felt, his curiosity had also just kicked in, and he wanted more information. Deakins couldn't hide a grin. Even now, he still knew which buttons to push to get Bobby Goren's attention.

"Lyn Bishop, and Mike Logan."

Bobby couldn't suppress his surprise. He could believe that Bishop would come back to Major Case to help out, but Logan…? Especially when it meant helping to find and rescue Alex and himself…?

"He worked his ass off, Bobby," Deakins told him quietly, sincerely. "He had a big part in finding you and Alex. You two may have butted heads the last time you worked together, but as soon as he found out what had happened, he dove into the case head first."

Bobby stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts in turmoil. He didn't particularly like Logan, and he knew that Logan definitely didn't like him. He wasn't sure how to deal with knowing he had to be grateful to the man who, at one time, had damn near gotten them both killed.

"Don't think about it right now," Deakins told him quietly. "Don't think about anything. Just rest now, Bobby. Let everyone else do the worrying. Just rest, okay?"

Bobby sighed faintly, and felt his body start to relax despite the fiery pain. That was an order that he would happily obey. Shutting his eyes, he slipped with thankful ease once more into the blissful nothing of sleep.

Deakins stood watching him for nearly a minute before sinking back into the chair. It took him another minute to realise that his cheeks were wet with his own tears. Mildly startled, he quickly pulled his handkerchief out to wipe his face. Perhaps he would freely shed tears later, in the privacy of his own home and in the company of his wife, but not now. Now was not the time, or the place.

He glanced up at the clock. It read just before eleven. Deakins looked away, out the window to the dark night. He would stay there for the rest of the night, go into the office in the morning to deal with any issues that needed handling… report to his superiors… After that he would finally go home and then… _only then_… would he be able to let go of the tension and trauma of the last five days, safe in the knowledge that his two best detectives were finally out of harm's way.

Deakins settled back in the chair, pulling the blankets back up to cover himself, and he went to sleep with a small, relieved smile still lingering on his lips.


	18. Reassurances

_Author's note:_ In the interests of not dragging this story out longer than it should be (and because my fingers are itching to start on a follow-on story idea that I've been toying with), I think that there will be only one more chapter to come after this – a possibly rather protracted epilogue, which I will take a little bit of time to work over. I'm not sure if I'm a hundred percent happy with this chapter, but I'm posting it anyway. If I make any significant changes, I will post a replacement chapter.

* * *

_  
The next morning  
__CSU Headquarters  
__One Police Plaza_

Mack Taylor looked up from his desk at the sound of a light knock on his office door. He was surprised, to say the least, to find James Deakins standing there. He stood up quickly.

"Captain Deakins…"

"Relax, Mack," Deakins told him. "I just thought I'd let you know the latest. They're going to be all right, both of them."

Mack dropped back into his chair, visibly relieved.

"That's great news, sir. Thankyou for coming down to let us know. We hadn't heard anything since getting back here. Did you just come from St Clare's?"

"Yes. I'll be heading home as soon as I've reported to my superiors."

"Good," Mack said firmly. "You need to get some proper rest."

A wry smile touched Deakins' lips.

"You'd be surprised how comfortable a hospital chair can be, when you're exhausted enough."

Mack laughed softly.

"So they really will be all right?"

"They've got a long road ahead of them," Deakins answered wearily. "It'll be a few weeks before they can replace the pins in Goren's right leg with a cast, and another five or six weeks after that before he can begin rehab. Then he's looking at two or three months of rehab _after_ that. Similar situation with Eames' left arm. It wasn't broken, it was shattered. Goren's leg was broken in seven places. Eames' arm was broken in five places. They were so damned lucky, though, Mack. When I think about how close we came to losing them both…"

"Don't think like that," Mack said. "You do, and you'll never sleep again. Just be glad we found them in time."

"Where's Lieutenant Caine?"

Mack bit back the urge to smile at Deakins' obvious change of subject.

"He went to St Clare's. I think he was hoping for a chance to see Goren and Eames before he and his team head back to Miami."

"When will that be?"

"After they get things wrapped up here? I think Horatio said they'd be heading back later this afternoon."

Deakins was silent for a long moment.

"I probably won't see him before he goes, Mack. Could you do me a favour, and thank him for me? We wouldn't have found Bobby and Alex if it hadn't been for them."

Mack nodded, smiling a little to himself at Deakins' use of the detectives' first names. Definitely his paternal side coming through.

"I'll tell him."

Deakins stepped back towards the door, then paused.

"Mack… Thankyou."

Mack's smile broadened a little.

"You're welcome, sir."

* * *

Gavin Eames stood just in the doorway of his daughter's room in the ICU. He was tired and hungry, and desperately in need of fresh air, but nor did he want to leave Alex alone. His other two children, Alex's older sister Kathy and her younger brother Philip, both gone home to their families hours ago and neither would be able to come back again until the following evening. 

He looked back at his daughter sadly. She had woken up once since that first moment of semi-awareness, and he wanted to be sure that when she woke up again, it would be to a friendly face and not the medical staff. So, he had no option but to stay right where he was.

"Excuse me… Mr Eames?"

Gavin looked around to find a tallish, red-headed man standing there. A cop, Gavin thought. Question was, from where?

"Yes," he answered simply. The man introduced himself.

"My name is Horatio Caine."

Realisation dawned.

"You're part of that crew from Miami, aren't you?" Gavin asked, and Horatio nodded in confirmation.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Caine…" Gavin murmured. "Lieutenant Caine? Jim Deakins mentioned you. He said if it hadn't been for you, my little girl would have died. He said you saved her life."

Horatio smiled just a little.

"It was a team effort. I was just wondering… How is she doing?"

Gavin ushered Horatio into the room.

"She's going to be okay. She's got a pretty long road ahead of her, but she will be all right."

"That arm is going to take a lot of rehab," Horatio said, eyeing Alex's left arm with a sympathetic wince.

"Yes," Gavin agreed, "but her doctor said she should get back full strength and mobility. It could have been a lot worse, Lieutenant Caine. She could have lost the arm entirely." He paused, then added softly, "She could have been dead."

Horatio walked around to the side of the bed, and gazed down at Alex's bruised face. When he had seen her last, her face had been almost the colour of ivory, and she had been deathly cold to the touch. Now, despite her injuries and the ugly bruising on her face, he could at least see colour and warmth returned to her features. He could see renewed life, a stark contrast to those first moments, now more than twenty-four hours ago, when they had thought her to be dead.

"I'm glad she'll recover," Horatio said softly.

Gavin smiled, warmed by the genuine relief in the other man's voice. A moment later, he found himself struggling to stifle a jaw-popping yawn.

"How long have you been here?' Horatio asked, though he suspected he already knew.

"Since they brought her down from Recovery," Gavin admitted wearily.

"Why don't you go and get something to eat and drink?" Horatio suggested.

"I don't want to leave her on her own," Gavin said. "I don't want her waking up alone."

"Fair enough," Horatio murmured. "Well, how about this? You go and get something for yourself… Maybe get some fresh air… And I'll stay here with Alex until you get back."

Gavin smiled appreciatively at Horatio.

"That's kind of you to offer, Lieutenant, but it isn't necessary. My two brothers will be here within the hour, and I'll have a chance to get some fresh air then. If you really want to, though, there's someone else just across the way who would probably be grateful for the company."

Horatio looked around, and his gaze went to the room across the hallway, beyond the nurses' station.

"He doesn't have any family?" Horatio asked. Gavin shook his head.

"Just a mother who's too ill to be here for him. And, apparently he has an older brother who doesn't give a damn. Since Jim Deakins left early this morning, he's been on his own. I don't know if he's even awake at the moment, but I think he'd appreciate not being alone."

Horatio nodded, his mind quickly made up.

"All right."

He started towards the door, only to stop when he felt Gavin's hand on his shoulder. Turning back, he found himself looking into the gratitude-filled expression of Alex Eames' father.

"Thankyou, Lieutenant Caine. Thankyou for my daughter's life."

Horatio smiled, feeling a little embarrassed now.

"You're welcome."

* * *

Bobby lay still and silent, slowly working his way through every form of meditation and relaxation method he was familiar with. 

None of it was helping. He'd even tried Lamaze, out of desperation to ease the sheer agony of his injuries. In the end, all that had done was to give him a nasty case of vertigo on top of the pain. After the dizziness had finally settled, he'd made a mental note to apologise profusely to Alex for his stubborn insistence that she attend all her Lamaze classes without fail.

Now, he was on the verge of giving in and summoning the medical staff. As little as he liked the idea of sedation, the hard truth was that he just didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to cope with the pain. Since Deakins had left earlier that morning, he'd literally had nothing to distract him and, for one of the few times in his solitary life, Bobby Goren found himself craving company.

Though he would never confess to it, he felt jealous knowing that Alex had her father to be with her, as well as the rest of her family, both immediate and extended. Where he… Well, he had no one.

When Deakins had left earlier, Bobby had pretended to be asleep to avoid any awkwardness. In truth, a part of him had wanted to beg Deakins to stay, but his pride would not allow it. Now, for the first time in a long, long while, Bobby found himself wishing for the support of a larger family.

As far as he was aware, his only living relations were his mother and his brother. His maternal grandparents had died when he was only four years old, and he had never met his paternal grandparents. They had both died long before he had been born.

He didn't remember any aunts or uncles. As far as he knew, his mother and his father were both only children and even if that were not the case, any such siblings had stayed right away.

"Detective Goren?"

Bobby looked around slowly, expecting the voice to belong to a nurse, or perhaps a doctor. Instead, he found himself looking at a man that he was sure he didn't know, and yet seemed very familiar.

"I wasn't sure whether you'd be awake," the man said, stepping into the room.

"I wish I wasn't," Bobby said miserably. "But it's kind of hard to sleep when you feel like your body's on fire."

"Do you want me to get the doctor?"

"No," Bobby answered softly. "They can't give me anymore painkillers, and I don't really want to be sedated."

He fell silent for a moment, staring at the newcomer and trying desperately to place a name to the familiar face.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "You look familiar, but I don't…"

"It's okay. We haven't officially met. My name's Horatio Caine. I'm with the Miami Dade CSU."

"Miami…" Bobby murmured. "Deakins mentioned Miami."

Horatio walked around to the side of the bed.

"I probably look familiar to you because I helped Captain Deakins to pull you up from the cliff."

Realisation and recognition dawned slowly in Bobby's eyes.

"I think I remember. It's not really clear…"

"Don't try to force yourself into remembering," Horatio told him. "There's no need. You've got enough to cope with at the moment as it is."

"How did the Miami police get involved in this?" Bobby asked, partly out of curiosity and partly out of need for distraction. Horatio answered with only a moment's hesitation.

"The head of your CSU, Mack Taylor, contacted me. The first five victims you had matched the signature of a killer that escaped us a couple of years ago. Mack thought we might be able to help."

"You could have just sent the case files," Bobby mumbled. "You didn't have to come to New York."

Horatio smiled.

"Your captain said much the same thing. I believed we could help. It's as simple as that."

For a moment the two men locked stares, and Horatio suddenly had the distinct sensation that Bobby Goren was looking straight through him, right into his soul. Then, Bobby turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly against the pain.

"I doubt it's that simple," he muttered. "Aw, crap…"

"What can I do?" Horatio asked as he watched Bobby go rigid on the bed. Bobby didn't answer, focusing every ounce of his concentration into trying to relax his body, and beat the pain. Tears built up and forced their way out from behind his tightly-shut eyes, and he cried out in distress before he could stop himself.

A hand suddenly slipped into his remaining good hand, and grasped it tightly. The sudden, unexpected contact brought him back from the edge of the abyss into which he had started to slide. His own hand locked in a vice-like grip onto Horatio's hand and slowly, slowly the rigid, excruciating tension throughout his body began to ease.

Minutes passed, and eventually Bobby was able to open his eyes and focus again on the concerned face that hovered above his own. It was then that he became aware that Horatio was speaking to him

"…hear me? Detective Goren? Try and relax. Just breathe… That's it…"

Bobby shuddered, and finally managed to release his grip on Horatio's hand.

"Sorry…" he whispered, seeing Horatio flex his hand. Horatio smiled faintly.

"Don't be." The Miami lieutenant reached across and took a damp cloth from a basin on the bedside cupboard, and took the liberty of wiping it gently over Bobby's hot, sweat-lathered face. "Any better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"How often does that happen?" Horatio asked. Bobby shook his head.

"Don't know. Can't keep track. But when it hits… it hits hard." He was silent for a long moment before speaking again softly. "I suppose you have to get going."

Horatio glanced towards the door, and across the hall to Alex's room. It seemed Gavin Eames had been right. Pulling the chair up close to the bed, Horatio sat down.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't."

The relief on Bobby's face was palpable.

"Thanks."

Silence reigned for a while. Bobby lay still and quiet and Horatio was starting to wonder whether he had managed to fall asleep despite the pain, when his soft voice spoke again.

"How did you work out it was Erik Mathers?"

Horatio contemplated what to say for a minute before answering.

"Luck had a lot to do with it. We had a name from our escaped killer, and it matched up against a property in the Adirondacks. It was the only lead we had, so Captain Deakins mobilised everyone and we headed up there. It wasn't until we spoke to the local sheriff that we found out about Mathers."

"This property… Was it the one in the mountains?"

"No. It was a house on the outskirts of a small town at the base of Gore Mountain. Mathers never took you and your partner there. What we did find, though, was his vehicle that he transported the two of you in. The sheriff told us about the cabin Mathers had up the mountain, and we found someone who was able to take us up there. Tell me something… if you can…?"

"What?"

"You and Detective Eames found yourselves back at Mathers' cabin at some point. What happened?"

Bobby was silent for a long moment before answering.

"We decided to backtrack. We figured that… that Mathers must have used a car or a van to get us to the cabin…"

"Close," Horatio said quietly. "He took you up the mountain in his van, then took you the rest of the distance using a quad bike and a flatbed trailer. We found the bike and trailer by pure accident. Logan slipped down an incline and found the path that Mathers had used."

Bobby contemplated that with a short, bitter laugh.

"We might have found that path… if I hadn't already been hurt."

"So… you'd already been injured when you got back to the cabin?"

"My shoulder," Bobby said softly. He glanced at Horatio, then looked away to the ceiling. "Some sort of spiked ball hit me in the shoulder. We managed to give Mathers the slip, and we decided to backtrack. We found the cabin, and decided to stay there. If we'd kept going… stayed outside… we would have both frozen. I don't know how long we were there for before Mathers came back. Alex went out the window… It was too small for me to get through. She smashed a window to get Mathers' attention so I could get out, too. I… He was on the porch with that damned crossbow. I don't know if he could really see Alex or not… I tackled him… That's when Alex was shot in the leg. I managed to stun Mathers, and then I went to find Alex. I was so stupid… I should have tried to finish Mathers off then, but all I could think about was that Alex was hurt. But I could have ended it then…"

"Think about that, Detective Goren," Horatio interrupted gently. "You'd been held for approximately two days before he released you and Detective Eames. I assume he gave you water at some point…?"

"Twice," Bobby confirmed, frowning a little. "The second lot was doped with something that knocked us both out."

"So he gave you an absolute minimum amount of water. You'd had nothing to eat for three days, and you admit you were already injured. You couldn't have beaten him. You knew that you weren't strong enough, so you did the only thing you could do."

Bobby looked up at Horatio, a bitter look on his face.

"Nearly got us both killed, you mean."

"You saved her life, and you saved your own," Horatio told him firmly. "There was nothing stupid in what you did, Detective Goren. Don't doubt that, not for a second."

Bobby was silent for a long minute as he considered Horatio's words.

"It's Bobby."

Horatio hesitated in responding. The detective had spoken so softly, that he wasn't sure that he'd heard him correctly.

"What was that?"

Bobby looked across at Horatio, and once again Horatio had that unsettling sensation that he was being looked through, rather than at.

"My name. It's Bobby. You can call me Bobby."

Horatio smiled a little.

"Okay, Bobby."

"How… How bad was it when you found us? How bad did we look?"

At that Horatio did hesitate. He could understand the morbid curiosity that fuelled a person's desire to know something like that, but he doubted the wisdom in telling the detective.

"They keep telling me she's alive," he said softly. "That she'll be okay. But how can I know for sure? After Mathers left us, I crawled over to Alex. I thought she was… was dead. But she wasn't… and I left her… She wasn't dead, and I left her…"

Understanding dawned in Horatio's eyes as he realised what Bobby needed to hear.

"Listen to me, Bobby. Are you listening? You might think you made a bad mistake, but leaving her like that probably saved her life. When Erik Mathers left the two of you in that clearing, it was because he heard us coming up the hill. He tried to stall us by shooting at us with his crossbow. He hit Mike Logan in the arm."

"Is he okay?" Bobby asked softly, a little taken aback by the news. Horatio nodded.

"He's fine. It wasn't a serious injury. Now, I'm guessing that when Mathers got back to the clearing, he found you gone and went after you straight away. If you'd stayed where you were, Mathers might have discovered Alex wasn't dead at all, and he might have endeavoured to finish what he started. As for thinking she was dead, don't beat yourself up over that. Your captain thought exactly the same thing when he got to her. He believed she was already dead, too. But then, if he hadn't, he might not have gone looking for you straight away, and if he hadn't done that, we would have lost _you_."

"That's a lot of maybes, Lieutenant Caine," Bobby mumbled, but at the same time Horatio thought he detected a hint of relief in the detective's eyes. He smiled a little, seeing Bobby was almost asleep.

"Just call me Horatio, Bobby."

Bobby didn't reply. His breath escaped him in a faint sigh as he slipped finally into the painless relief of sleep. Horatio stood watching him for a few minutes, marvelling at how incredibly fortunate they had all been. Yes, they had two critically injured cops, but _they were alive_. And that, Horatio thought, was no small miracle. They had a long road ahead of them, with rehabilitation and intensive trauma counselling, but Horatio had the sudden sure feeling that they were both going to be fine.

The detectives were safe, and a killer was dead. Horatio sat down slowly, a relieved and satisfied smile on his lips. Everything was going to be just fine.


	19. Epilogue: Back To Work

_Author's note: Thus we reach the final (or, perhaps not so final) step of this traumatic little journey. This story may finish, but where one finishes, a new one often begins…_

_Okay, that's enough tin pot philosophy for me. _

_I had written out a section where Bobby's brother turns up out of the blue after suffering a massive guilt trip for abandoning his little brother… but I just don't do happy/fuzzy. I'd also planned on this being more long-winded than it actually turned out to be, but the truth is, I'm already working on a follow-on story, andI hope to be able to includethings that I have either skated over in this story, or not touched on at all. I'm also open to suggestions. _: )

_Enjoy._

_

* * *

_

_**EPILOGUE**_

_Four months later_

Bobby Goren slowed to a halt at the bottom of the steps that led up to the building that was One Police Plaza, gazing upwards until his eyes fixed on the windows of the eleventh floor. It was, literally, the first time he had laid eyes on the place in over four months. It was the longest that he'd ever been away from work.

It was also the longest time he had ever spent in hospital. Three months, one week, and two days. The time span was burned into his memory, with no hope of being forgotten. Alex, on the other hand, had been able to leave hospital after six weeks, going home to be cared for by her family.

He would never willingly let on just how horribly jealous he'd been, the day that she had been wheeled into his room, dressed and ready to go home. She'd known anyway, though. He had never been able to hide his feelings from her, and that was true now more than ever.

He'd tried hard to smile and be happy for her at the time, but faced with another couple of months within the confines of St Clare's, Bobby couldn't help but feel some bitterness. Had he had family to help look after him as Alex did, he too would have been able to leave hospital, and finish recovering in the comfort of his own home. But he had no family to take care of him. The only person who might have been able to fulfil that role of carer was his brother, and Richie had refused to come.

That had hurt. It hurt far more than Bobby had ever imagined it could. It hadn't been unexpected but, faced with the reality of his brother's callousness, after Alex had been sent home Bobby had shrunk back into his protective shell, locking out everyone around him.

The day after Alex had gone home, Bobby had begged the use of a phone off one of the nurses and had called his mother, clinging to some inexplicable and ill-defined hope of reassurance from the one remaining member of his family that he was close to.

In retrospect, he really should have known better. The tirade he'd endured from her had been one of the worst in his memory and after she had finally slammed the phone down on him (after labelling him an ungrateful, uncaring bastard of a son), he had meekly asked the nurse to take the phone away. He'd seen out the rest of the day in stoic silence, ignoring the few people who had looked in on him. It wasn't until much later, in the dead of the night and with no one else around, that he had at last let go and sobbed his heartache into his pillow.

He'd not attempted to contact his mother again while in hospital. The day after he'd finally arrived home, he had risked phoning her again and he hadn't been all that surprised when she behaved as though the last three and a half months hadn't happened. She'd asked when he was coming to visit her next, and he'd struggled to explain that he had a badly broken leg, and would not be able to drive himself anywhere for another six months while he underwent rehab. It had literally gone in one ear and out the other, and she had asked him the same question another four times before he had finally ended the call.

He wanted to be able to go and visit her, but the only person he trusted to take him to Carmel Ridge was Alex, and she too was restricted from driving until her left arm healed completely.

"Hey, you."

Bobby blinked and looked around, coming back to reality as Alex stopped beside him. She smiled up at him, opting not to say a word about the sad, faraway look she'd seen fleetingly on his face.

"Not nervous, are you?"

He smiled, but sure enough there was just a flickering of nerves there. Alex slipped her right arm through his left, and gently tugged him towards the building.

"C'mon. The longer we wait, the worse it'll be."

"First day is the worst, right?" he muttered.

"Right. Now c'mon."

They started forward, taking their time as Bobby negotiated the few steps with extra care. His right leg, still in the process of healing from multiple fractures, was protected by a full length brace which had the unfortunate side-effect of impeding his movement. Early on during his rehabilitation, he'd learnt the hard way that trying to move too quickly in the brace risked taking a very nasty fall.

The hard way had resulted in an extra three weeks in the rehab wing of St Clare's. He wasn't going to take that chance again.

They got to the top of the steps, and headed together into the lobby of One Police Plaza.

* * *

Alex continued to watch Bobby out of the corner of her eye as they headed into One Police Plaza together. She'd not missed the look on his face as she joined him at the bottom of the steps. Fleetingly, she wondered whether it was such a great idea for him to be starting work again today, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to her. After enduring so long in hospital, telling him he couldn't go back to work now would be akin to shoving a knife into his back.

She recalled with some reluctance her first visit back to St Clare's for the first of an ongoing stream of physio sessions. She'd left her brother in the cafeteria while she went to visit Bobby, who still had another three or four weeks left before the plaster casts could come off his legs. The look on his face when she walked in would haunt her for a long time. She didn't think she had ever seen him look as miserable as he did when she walked in at that moment.

He had attempted to feign happiness but, as always, he proved to be a hopeless liar when it was Alex that he was trying to lie to. It hadn't taken much in the way of prompting for him to tell her about the disastrous phone call to his mother. Before long, he'd been in tears, and her heart broke for him a dozen times over that out of the only family he had left, his mother was too stricken by mental illness to understand the terrible situation her son was in, and his brother simply too callous to give a damn.

Feeling guilty that she had the loving and supportive family that he could only dream of, she'd spent the next few hours at his side, refusing to leave even when her brother Philip had come searching for her, anxious to get going.

It had been both a blessing and a curse when his rehab doctor finally gave the all-clear for him to go home. He'd been almost euphoric at finally being able to leave the hospital, but that joy had been tempered by a heightened sense of loneliness renewed by his prolonged hospital stay. Alex sensed it in him acutely, and soon took to spending extensive periods with him – always at his apartment, since she had far more freedom of movement than he did.

Not so surprising had been the realisation that in spending time with him to alleviate his feelings of isolation and depression, she found that she could also finally begin to recover from the trauma of their experience. At some point they had reached the same conclusion at much the same time. As they had needed each other to survive, they now needed each other to recover.

Now they were doing something that, at one time not so long ago, both had doubted would ever happen. They were going back to work, and they were doing it together. He'd be fine, she rationalised to herself. They both would be.

Sure there would be plenty of eyes on them to start with, but they could deal with that. Hadn't they always, after all?

She watched closely as he negotiated the steps, acutely aware that a fall would be disastrous. She waited patiently until he was safely to the top of the few steps, then took his arm once more to usher him gently into One Police Plaza.

Not surprisingly, they were beset by officers wanting to wish them well almost as soon as they walked through the doors, and it took them nearly ten minutes and a growing look of pained exhaustion on Bobby's face before they were able to escape to the safety of the lifts.

"It's going to be like this all day, isn't it?" Bobby asked tiredly, leaning back against the wall of the lift. Alex smiled sympathetically.

"Probably. You know, it's not too late to change your mind and go home. No one would think worse of you for it."

"I need to be here," he said quietly. "I was going crazy at home. Even if it's just desk duty for the next month, I'd rather be here than sitting at home staring at the walls."

"I know," Alex agreed. "I feel the same way. Nervous, but glad to be back. We came so close to never seeing this place again…"

Her voice cracked just slightly at the deluge of unwanted memories. Then Bobby's arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her close in a reassuring hug, gently bringing her back to the safety of the present.

Alex smiled gratefully at him, relishing the contact, thankful that they hadn't (yet) slipped back into old habits. Then again, she had warned him just the day before while they chatted in the living room of his apartment that if he tried to go back to calling her 'Eames', she'd cheerfully smack him upside the head.

He'd answered her with an indulgent smile, and wrapped his arms around her in an all-encompassing hug.

"Alex, you'll never be 'Eames' to me again."

Alex had smiled happily, content to stay wrapped up in his arms for as long as possible. He'd taken to hugging her frequently; a need that she suspected was born of the trauma he'd suffered in that clearing, when he thought she'd died. She didn't mind. She'd found that she harboured an equally strong need for regular physical contact with him, too, and felt a steady, unpleasant anxiety deep in her gut whenever they were not within close proximity to each other.

There was nothing romantic about any of it. The reality was that rather than force them apart, their ordeal had drawn them together in a way that neither of them could have anticipated.

Coming back to reality as the lift slid to a halt at the eleventh floor, Alex looked up at Bobby with an encouraging smile, making no attempt to disengage herself from him.

"Ready?"

He grimaced.

"No."

Alex gently slid her arm back through his.

"C'mon. Let's get this over with."

Letting his breath out in a rush, Bobby allowed Alex to steer him out of the lift, and back into the waiting arms of the place that they hadn't seen for so long.

* * *

"Waiting for something, or someone?" Ron Carver inquired when he walked in to find Deakins standing at the window of his office, looking out into the main area of the Major Case Squad rooms.

"Someone," Deakins answered. "They're coming back to work today."

Carver nodded in understanding.

"Ah. Of course. Although, I have to say, I'm rather surprised that Detective Goren was given the all-clear to come back so soon after being released from hospital."

Deakins nodded.

"I know. It's really too soon, but the poor guy was going stir crazy. Even if he can only sit at his desk and read files, it'll be better for him than being stuck at home. Besides, Eames said she wasn't coming back to work unless he did, too."

"Package deal?" Carver mused, and Deakins chuckled.

"Something like that. I think they'll be okay, though. I'll keep them both on desk duty for a couple of weeks, and we'll see how they go from there."

"You really think they're going to be all right?"

Deakins looked slowly around at Carver.

"In what sense?"

"Well… in terms of resuming their partnership. I hate to be a pessimist, Jim, but you've seen how experiences like the one they had can destroy a good partnership."

"I know," Deakins agreed quietly. "I was worried about that, too, especially when Eames' family took her home, and Goren had to stay in hospital. I went to see him that afternoon, after Eames had gone home. He wouldn't even look at me, let alone talk to me, and apparently he was the same with everyone. He just shut down completely. I really was concerned about how he'd react to Eames after that."

"So his brother never turned up at all."

"No. I called him myself and asked him to come. I tried to explain how important it was for Goren to have family there to support him… All the selfish son of a bitch had to say was that he had better things to worry about than his… quote, 'whacked out little brother', unquote."

"Very harsh," Carver muttered. "What did you tell Detective Goren?"

"Nothing. I think he knew anyway, but I wasn't going to be the one to tell him his older brother doesn't give a damn about him. Would you want to?"

"No, I don't think I would. And he really has no other family aside from his sick mother? None at all?"

"None at all," Deakins confirmed grimly. "You know, Ron, I don't think I'd be far wrong in saying that the last three months have effectively been the worst of Goren's life."

"It hasn't exactly been a picnic for either of them," Carver murmured. "I hear tell they were none too cooperative with their counsellors?"

Deakins smiled wryly. Rumours spread fast and far, even in the NYPD. It didn't help that Bobby Goren was notorious for running circles around Departmental psychiatrists.

"Not at first, no. I can't really say much about it, except that Eames would hardly talk, and Goren wouldn't talk at all. Then one of the counsellors had the idea of taking a session with both of them together."

"Group counselling?"

"More or less."

"And did it work?"

Deakins nodded. "It worked so well that they didn't go back to individual counselling. The last report I received from the counsellors stated pretty clearly that it would be highly detrimental to separate them when they return to work. I tell you, Ron, I took a lot of pleasure in handing that report to the Chief of Detectives."

"He wanted to split them up?"

"He was adamant about it. Said no good could come from keeping them together."

"And did he accept the report?"

"Very reluctantly. Ordered me to keep a watch on them for the next few months, and if there's even a hint of trouble, I'm to report it to him immediately. I don't believe there will be, though."

"They're here."

Deakins looked out through his open door in time to see Bobby and Alex come slowly around the corner, arm in arm. Not unexpectedly, silence descended abruptly on the Major Case Squad room as the two detectives entered. Then, to the embarrassment of both, someone hooted loudly and started to clap and cheer. Seconds later, the room was filled with the sound of thunderous applause.

"So much for a quiet entrance," Deakins commented, a broad grin on his face as the two self-conscious detectives made their way through the small but vocal crowd of well-wishers. He stood up and joined Carver at the window, watching as Bobby and Alex manoeuvred through the crowd of Major Case employees, all of whom seemed to want the chance to tell the detectives how glad they were that they were back at work.

Eventually, the crowd dissipated, and Bobby and Alex were finally able to reach their desks. Deakins hesitated, watching with a sense of relief that he couldn't begin to voice. As he watched, Bobby helped Alex remove her coat and jacket, taking extra care to manoeuvre the sleeves around the protective brace that she still wore on her left arm. He hung both items up on the nearby rack along with his own. Then Alex pulled Bobby's chair out for him in a gesture that at first seemed odd – until those watching realised that she was merely helping him to sit down without jostling his right leg.

Deakins was about to turn away when Alex followed that gesture by leaning down and kissing Bobby gently on the cheek.

"Tell me I didn't just see that," Carver said in a low, tense voice. It was all Deakins could do not to laugh aloud.

"All right, Counsellor. You didn't just see that."

"Captain Deakins…"

"Don't say it, Ron. It isn't necessary. Trust me."

He looked back out in time to see Bobby hugging Alex to him briefly before she turned and went to get coffee for the both of them. He smiled a little to himself, feeling an intense sensation of relief and gratitude that his two best detectives were finally back where they belonged.

"Everything's just fine."


End file.
